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*• 27 - October 7th, 1892. Price, 25 Cents. 

Xhe Popular Series 


Issued Monthly. 



THESEUS; 


HERO OF ATTICA. 


By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., 

BTHOR OF “The Outcast of Milan,” “ Rollo of Normandy,” 
“The Scourge of Damascus,” “The Conspirator of 
Cordova,” “The Fortunes of Conrad,” “The 
Bandit of Syracuse,” “ Roderick of Kil- 
dare,” “Karl the Lion,” “The 
Caliph of Bagdad,” “ The 
Spectre’s Secret,” 

ETC., etc. 


Sitigle Numbers 25 Cents. 

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ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

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tSntered at ihv Pa^t Office at Xew York , N K, Second Clam ATail Matter . 


THE 

NEW YORK LEDGER. 

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A Fine English Novel. 

REUBEN FOREMAN, 

The Village Blacksmith. 

^ NodcI. 


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WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 

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i 


I 


THESEUS ; HERO OF ATTICA, 


a jrooti. 


BY 

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., 

u 

Author of “ The Outcast of Milan," Rollo of Normandy," 
“ The Scourge of Damascus," “ The Conspirator of Cor- 
dova," “ The Forttmes of Conrad," “ The Robber Count- 
ess," “ The Royal Outlaw," “ The Bandit of Syra- 
cuse," Roderick of Kildare," Karl the 
Lion," “ The Caliph of Bagdad," “ The 
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Tyrant's Vault," “ The Knight's 

Motto," etc., etc. 

1 * 


NEW YORK: 

ROBERT BONNER'S 

PUBLISHERS. 

. I ' 

THE POPULAE SERIES I ISSUED MONTHLY. SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, THREE DOLLARS PER ANNUM. NO. E7, 
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5 - 




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COPTRIGHT, 1864 and 1892, 

By ROBERT BONNER’S SONS. 


{All righU re$erved.) 





THESEUS. • 


CHAPTER I. 

THESEUS — THE MYSTIC ARMS. 

N the South-eastern part of Argolis, situ- 
ate on the Saronic Gulf, was the city of 
Troezene, under the sway of an old king 
named Pittheus. It was a small realm 
to bestow so exalted a title upon its ruler, 
but in those days there were many petty 
kingdoms in Greece ; for the founding 
of a city, with encompassing walls and 
battlements, gave to the founder royal 
dignity and power. Pittheus was bent 
beneath the weight of many years, and 
his reign had been for the most part a peaceful and pros- 
perous one. He had but one child — a daughter — named 
./Ethra, now advanced to the middle age, a woman of ex- 
emplary character and many virtues. It was known in 
Troezene that AEthra was married ; but who her hus- 
band was hone knew save herself and her father. She 
came once in every year to visit the home of her birth ; 

[7] 



8 


Theseus. 


blit the presence of her aged parent was not the only 
thing that led her thither, as we shall shortly see. 
When she came, she came in a vessel from over the 
sea, and from the sailors who accompanied her not a 
word of their lady’s secret could be obtained by the curi- 
ous people of Troezene, When she went away her bark 
bore her so swiftly over the waves that none could fol- 
low her. Once an unlucky sailor drank too much wine, 
and talked of the lady to three fishermen who were haul- 
ing in their nets near to where the ship was anchored. 
The sailor and the fishermen were sent for by the king ; 
and they were never seen again by their companions. 

Though his daughter lived far away, still Pittheus 
dwelt not alone. For almost a score of years he had 
enjoyed the companionship of his grand-child, Theseus, 
the son of ..(Ethra. While Theseus was yet an infant he 
had been sent to the court of Pittheus to be reared and 
educated ; and the old king had performed his duty in 
love and good faith. 

The springtime had come, and the vales and hillsides 
of Argolis were clad in their many-colored vestments 
of flower and shrub ; the husbandman went forth to 
till the soil, and the hunter bent his bow once more in 
the deep wood. On a beautiful, bright morning a ship 
appeared off the coast, and when the anchor had been 
dropped in the harbor of Troezene a boat put off in 
which was a woman whom the people quickly recog- 
nized to be the daughter of their king. Pittheus, with a 
score of attendants, was at the landing to welcome his 
child, and when he had embraced her, and assured him- 
self that she was well, he led her to his palace, where 
she partook of refreshment, and then sought a few hours’ 
repose. Towards noon she arose and joined her father 
in his private apartment. 

Ailthra was a noble-looking woman, with form and 


Thesetcs — The Mystic Arms. 


9 


feature moulded after the kindest type of Grecian 
beauty, and possessed of sense and intellect that im- 
parted a permanent charm to her face. Age did not 
impair her loveliness, nor did care draw its lines upon 
her brow. 

“Sweet daughter,” spoke the king, “it gives me joy 
unspeakable to welcome you once more to my court ; 
and it gladdens my heart to see you looking so well. 
Still, there comes a shadow with your presence, and my 
joy is tinged with regret.” 

“ How can that be, father ?” 

“ Ah, my child, have you not come to call hence our 
noble Theseus ?” 

The bosom of the mother swelled at the mention of 
that name, and a dewy moisture gathered upon her 
silken lashes. 

“ I have come,” she said, “ to see how he progresses. 
His own prowess must decide the event of his leaving 
you.” 

“ I know it,” replied the king ; “ and that is why I 
am fearful of losing him.” 

“ Is he, then, so proficient ?” asked AEthra, tremul- 
ously. 

“ Aye,” answered Pittheus, “ he is a prodigy of wis- 
dom, and his prowess exceeds that of all the youths of 
Argolis. He is lord of the forest, and the sharp-clawed 
beasts of prey flee at his approach. At the last Olym- 
pian festival he bore away the palm ; and I doubt if 
there is now a man in all Peloponnesus who would dare 
to stand single-handed before him.” 

“ Enough, my father,” cried the mother. “ Let me 
see him.” 

“ And will it give you joy, my daughter, if Theseus is 
found qualified to leave my court 
. A shadow rested upon the face of .^thra. 


lO 


Theseus. 


“ No, my father,” she replied, slowly and solemnly. 
“ Could my wishes be the rule and guide of his life, he 
would not leave this safe retreat ; but the" gods will it 
otherwise. We must obey. ” 

“ You speak truly, .^thra. It is not for us to ques- 
tion. I will summon him.” 

Thereupon Pittheus called one of his attendants, and 
directed that Theseus should be sent to the royal apart- 
ment. 

In a little while the door of the chamber was opened, 
and Theseus entered. He was in the first bloom of 
opening manhood, with the flush of health resting in 
the tints of the rose and the lily upon his handsome 
face. He was tall and symmetrical, with limbs well 
rounded ; and his movements betokened a wondrous 
power of frame. The closely curling raven hair did not 
hide the grand form of the head ; and as he stood in the 
presence of his mother, with the warmth of devoted love 
casting a new glow upon his face, he combined in one 
person the beauty of Adonis with the power of Her- 
cules. 

” Theseus,” spoke the king, “ behold your mother.” 

But it needed not the address of Pittheus. The youth 
had recognized the sweet face, and even while the king 
spake he had hurried forward and rested his head upon 
the bosom whence his infant nourishment had been 
drawn. 

Half an hour was spent in such conversation as was 
suggested by the meeting, and then succeeded a period 
of silence. Pittheus and .^Ethra seemed inclined to 
avoid what must follow, but not so Theseus. 

“ My mother,” he cried, when he found that he must 
open the subject, “ do you know that I have now 
reached the estate of manhood. If my grandfather hath 
kept the reckoning correctly the seasons have succeeded 


Theseus . — The Mystic Arms. ii 


each other in their rule over the land one-and-twenty 
times since I was born. Is it not so ?” 

“ It is true as you have spoken, my son.” 

“ Doth my father live V' 

“ He does.” 

“ Then tell me where I may seek him.” 

The mother shook her head. 

“ How,” exclaimed Theseus, “ am I not yet to know 
my father ? Whence this barrier to my soul’s desire ?” 
The old king and his daughter regarded each other for 
a few moments in silence ; but at length .^thra spoke : 
/ “ My son, be not too eager to exchange this abode of 
peace and, quiet for the turmoil and dangers which may 
beset thee when thou seekest a new abode.” 

“ Am I a toying child ? Am I a weak girl ?” cried 
the youth, his broad bosom swelling, and his dark eyes 
flashing with Hesperian light. ‘‘ Have I been all these 
years devoting my energies to the cultivation of my 
mind, and the strengthening of my limbs, only to pass 
the rest of my days in idleness and sloth ? Know ye, 
my mother, that trials and dangers are the things I seek. 
Show me my father and tell me of his enemies, and this 
arm shall smite them from the face of the earth. Keep 
me no longer in the dark. If there is no work for me 
to do by the decree of those who are responsible for my 
being, then I will seek adventure on my own account.” 

” My noble son,” spoke .^thra, with deep solemnity, 
” there is work for you to do ; there are adventures 
before you ; and there are dangers too. Pardon the 
tender solicitude of a mother’s love, if you think I have 
seemed anxious to hold you back.” 

“ Pardon me, gentle mother, if I have spoken harshly. 
But I feel that I have something more to do than to 
rust away in Troezene.” 


Theseus. 


I 2 


^thra turned and spoke with her father, and then 
she said to her son : 

“ It remains with you, Theseus, to decide what shall 
be in the future. In half an hour from this time you 
will go with me to the valley of Syros, where the deci- 
sion must be made.” 

“ Shall I take my companions with me ?” 

“ Who are they ?” 

“ I have but two — Clio, the Athenian armorer, and 
Cassander, of Argos. They are brave men and true, 
and have borne me company in all my wanderings for 
several years.” 

“ They may go with you, my son.” 

Theseus saluted his mother with another kiss, and 
then withdrew from the apartment. In the court he 
found the two companions of whom he had spoken. 
Clio, the Athenian, was not more than thirty years of 
age. He was heavier than Theseus, but lacked the 
beautiful symmetry and muscular elasticity of the latter. 
Cassander, of Argos, was a few years older than Clio, 
and not quite so large. They were both bold, brave 
men, and could hurl the javelin and point the sword 
with fatal precision. They had been selected by Pit- 
theus as companions for his grandson, and their office 
had been to keep him in practice with such weapons 
as warriors and hunters used. They had been true to 
the trust reposed in them, and between them and the 
youth had grown up a love as strong as life itself. 

“ Now, my brave brothers,” cried Theseus, “ the hour 
is at hand in which 1 am to know what lieth before 
me. My mother will shortly lead me to the valley of 
Syros, and you are to go with me. What say you to it ?” 

They both clapped their hands with joy, for they 
saw adventure in the circumstance. They were ready 
to go to the ends of the earth with their master. 


Thesetis — The Mystic Arms. 


13 


In due time -cEthra appeared in the court, attended by 
her father, and one Ethiopian slave ; and very soon the 
party set out upon their mission. The way was to the 
westward from the city, and at the distance of half a 
league they entered a thick wood. A huge wild boar 
sprang out upon them as they threaded the deep forest 
and ^thra came nigh swooning with terror ; but The- 
seus, ever on his guard, snatched a javelin from his 
back, and hurled it with such force and precision that 
it pierced the boar through and through. Clio and Cas- 
sander had made no movement against the beast, for 
when they saw that their master was armed they knew 
that their help would not be needed. They marked the 
spot where the boar might be found by the king’s ser- 
vants, and then continued on their way. 

The valley of Syros was distant two leagues from 
Troezene, and through it ran a small river. Upon one 
hand was a long hill covered with wood, while upon the 
other arose an abrupt precipice of jagged rock, .^thra 
led the way until she had reached the middle of the val- 
ley, where she stopped before a large flat stone which 
seemed to be half buried in the earth. 

“ My son,” she said, “ what one man can lift this stone 
from its resting-place ?” 

” Must it be so lifted ?” inquired Clio. 

“ It must,” was u®thra’s answer. 

“ Then let me try.” 

Thus speaking, the Athenian cleared a place for his 
hands beneath the edge of the stone, and then applied 
himself to the task. He put forth all his strength, 
straining till every muscle had done its utmost ; but the 
stone did not move. 

Next Cassander bent to the work ; but the stone 
retained its place as though it had been a fixed part of 
the solid earth. 


14 


Theseus. 


“ No mortal can lift that stone,” he said, as he leaned : 
back to regain his exhausted breath. * 

A hopeful light beamed upon ^thra’s face, and turn- 
ing to her father she whispered what was in her mind. 
The old king shook his head. 

“You have not yet seen your son put forth his 
strength. Common men are as infants compared with 
him.” 

“ Shall I lift the stone ?” asked Theseus. 

“ You will do so if you can,” replied his mother. 

He stooped and placed his hands where Clio and Cas- 
sander had placed theirs. The cords of his arms and 
shoulders and neck swelled like ropes, and presently the 
stone left its hold upon the earth, and with one mighty 
heave he lifted the ponderous mass and threw it entirely 
over. As he looked upon the spot where the stone had 
rested, he beheld an iron chest, with the key in the lock. 
He turned to his mother, to know what further he 
should do. 

“ The contents of the chest are yours,” she said. 

“ Open it, and secure the prize.” 

With trembling hand Theseus turned the key and 
threw back the cover of the chest, and within he found 
a sword and a pair of sandals. He took them out and 
examined them. The sandals were of gold, with straps 
of crimson leather thickly studded with pearls and 
precious stones. The sword was long and heavy, but 
he handled it as though it had been of lightest wood. 
The scabbard was of purest gold, richly carved, and bore 
upon its sides strange characters which he could not 
understand. The hilt and guard were formed by the 
curious twining together of two serpents — one of gold 
and the other of silver. The mouth of the silver ser- 
pent held the blade, while the head of the gold serpent 
formed the pommel, holding in its open jaws a car- 


15 


Tkesetis — The Mystic Arms. 


buncle of large size and rare brilliancy. As Theseus 
drew forth the blade, his eyes were dazzled by its bright- 
ness. He tried the edge and point, and found them so 
sharp that the slightest touch left a mark upon the skin 
of his thumb. 

“ My son,” said .^thra, “ that sword was your father’s. 
Its mate is not to be found this side of Mount Olympus. 
The sandals were also his. He buried them here Vhen 
you were an infant, and his mandate was, that when 
you were able to lift away the stone which he with his 
own hands had placed over them, you would be fit to 
wield the one and wear the other. Take them, and 
return with me to Troezene, and there we will decide 
what the next step shall be.” 

“ Am I now to seek my father ?” asked the youth. 

” Yes,” replied his mother. “ But,” she added, shak- 
ing her head, ” think not that you are to tread a path of 
roses.” 

“ I ask no such path,” cried Theseus. “ With this 
trenchant blade I can carve my way through forests 
and through mountains. Point me to the way, and let 
me go.” 

.^thra trembled, and another shadow rested upon 
her face. She knew that her son was brave and strong, 
and she knew, too, that these very qualities would lead 
him into many dangers. Without speaking further, she 
turned from the place of the empty chest and moved back 
toward the city, conversing on the way with her father 
while Theseus and his companions followed at a respect- 
ful distance. When they reached the palace the lady 
retired to her own chamber and the king called his 
grandson to his closet. ' 

“ You are not yet wholly armed,” said Pittheus. ‘‘ You 
have the sword and the sandals of your father, but you 
have not yet his buckler. This latter arm has been in 


i6 


Theseus. 


my keeping since you were born, and I will now deliver 
it to you.” 

Thus speaking, the old king left the closet, and when 
he returned he bore upon his arm a buckler of bur- 
nished steel, inlaid with gold and precious stones. 

“You would scarcely think,” he said, as he turned 
the polished surface toward the light, “ that hard blows 
from sharp swords had been laid upon this buckler ; 
but such is the fact. These weapons were brought 
from Egypt by an old armorer whose life was saved by 
your father’s father. He had spent many years in per- 
fecting his art, and the result was the production of 
two swords and two bucklers. One of the swords and 
one buckler fell into the hands of Minos, king of Crete, 
and the others came into the possession of your grand- 
father. There may be magic power in these arms, for 
the old Egyptian professed to be a magician, and he 
declared that he had received the assistance of the gods 
in their manufacture. But I would advise you not to 
trust much in such a tale. Be assured that you possess 
weapons which cannot be excelled by mortal handiwork, 
and beyond that let your hopes find rest in your own 
wisdom and prowess. If the gods see fit to smile upon 
you, so be it ; but be sure that you have earned their 
favor before you presume thereupon. It is now late, 
my’’ son, and I must seek my officers before I retire. 
Rest you until morning, and then you shall receive 
further directions.” 

Theseus would have asked his grandfather many 
questions, but he knew that the old king had business 
to attend to, so he withdrew without further remark. 
When he reached his own apartment, he examined more 
carefully the arms which he had obtained in so wonder- 
ful a manner. The sword was truly a marvel. It bal- 
anced in his hand as though nature had fashioned it on 


The First Adventtire. 


17 


purpose for him. A silken thread which hung sus- 
pended from one of the curtains, he severed at a stroke ; 
and then, to prove its temper, he struck at the blade of 
the sword he had been wont to carry. He struck once — 
he struck twice. At the third stroke, which was deliv- 
ered with more confidence, he smote the blade of the 
old weapon in twain, and when the feat had been accom- 
plished he found not so much as a mark to show where 
the contact had come upon the keen edge of his new- 
found blade. Then he examined the buckler, and bal- 
anced it upon his arm. Had he searched the wide world 
through, he could not have found one that, in form, and 
size, and weight, could have suited him better. He 
placed it against the wall, and hurled a dozen steel- 
pointed javelins full upon its surface, and they did not 
leave a dent to mark the places where their points had 
been turned and battered ! 

Happy Theseus ! He kissed the priceless weapons as 
a lover might have kissed his mistress ! and when he 
retired he placed them beneath his pillow. 

Theseus slept soundly and sweetly ; but not so ^thra. 
She spent most of the night in prayer, beseeching the 
gods to look down kindly upon her son, and to lead him 
safely through the dangers which beset the path that 
was opening before him. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE FIRST ADVENTURE, 

On the following morning Theseus was up betimes, 
and having taken a turn in the forest with Clio and 
Cassander, and eaten his breakfast, he was ready to 
answer the summons of his mother. He found her 


Theseus. 


with the King, and when he saw them together, he 
knew from their bearing that they had been conversing 
about himself. As he approached to salute his parent 
he thought she looked pale, and that her lips were quiv- 
ering. He embraced her and tenderly asked if she were 
ailing. Pittheus answered for her : 

“ I fear,” he said, “that your mother hath some seri- 
ous sickness upon her. Should her illness detain her 
at my court our plans may be somewhat changed. You 
will wait until later in the day, and then we may arrive 
at some definite conclusion.” 

“ But in the meantime,” said AEthra, “ you may be 
making your preparations for departure ; for, whether 
I go or not, you must not be detained longer in Argolis.” 

Theseus withdrew from the chamber, and having 
once more sought Clio and Cassander, he set about mak- 
ing preparations for his journey. Of course he meant 
that these two faithful men should bear him company, 
and he directed them to select for their own use the 
most serviceable weapons they could find. In selecting 
the javelins he exercised his own judgment, though he 
called upon his companions to express their opinions 
touching his choice. 

Shortly after noon Theseus was sent for again, and 
this time he found his mother upon her couch, unable 
t j arise. A burning fever was in her veins, and her brow 
was hot and parched. The physicians had been with 
her, and it was their opinion that it might be several 
weeks before she could venture forth upon her return 
to her husband. 

“ Dear Theseus,” she said, raising herself to her 
elbow, “ I grieve that you must go alone to seek your 
father.” 

“ I grieve that you are sick, dear mother,” the son 
replied ; “ but let there be no grief on my account.” 


The First Adventure. 


19 


I shall not go forth alone. Clio and Cassander will go 
with me, and their companionship will be all sufficient. 
Yet, my mother, if I can be of assistance to you here, 
or if my presence will lighten the gloom of your sick 
chamber, I will curb my desires and wait with pleasure.” 

” No, my son, — it cannot be. You must away at once. 
Were the decision left with me I might call upon you to 
stop ; but I have not the right. You must go from here 
to Athens, where you will search out Orestes the silver- 
smith. He is an old man, and well known in Athens.” 

“ Is he my father ?” asked Theseus eagerly. 

JEihva. lay back upon her pillow, and after a short 
silence, she said : 

“ Do not press me, my son, with questions. As I 
have already told you, were I left to my own wishes I 
might answer you fully all you wished to know ; but 
such is not the case. I am commanded not to tell you 
who your father is, and perhaps it is best that you 
should not know until you are safe within the house of 
the silversmith. The directions which I have to give 
are very simple. You are to make your way to Athens, 
there to seek Orestes, and from him to gain further 
instruction. Your grandfather will be best able to give 
you directions touching your route. He will either fur- 
nish you with a ship, or you may take the one in which 
I came.” 

Theseus would gladly have spent more time with his 
mother, but he saw that it pained her to talk, so he 
kissed her upon the cheek and then withdrew. He 
found his grandfather alone, to whom he related what 
had just passed. 

“ I am going to Athens, the city of cities,” he said, 

where I am to seek Orestes, the silversmith, who will 
give me further directions. My mother said that you 
would give me information touching my route.” 


20 


Thesetis. 


“ I will do so.” 

“ And, perhaps,” added the youth, “ you can tell me 
something concerning my father.” 

“ No,” said Pittheus, shaking his head ; “ that is be- 
yond my province. I can only tell you how to reach 
Athens.” 

“ Then,” returned Theseus, “ I fear I shall not need 
your counsel, for the route is well known to Clio.” 

“ How, my son,” cried the king, in amazement ; “ do 
you think of going to Athens by land ?” 

“ Certainly. I will take my way over the Corinthian 
Isthmus.” 

“ No, no, Theseus — that will never do. You must go 
across the Saronic Gulf. You can have a good ship 
and an able crew. The Isthmus of Corinth is beset by 
many dangers.” 

“ Dangers are what I seek, sire.” 

“ But the dangers of that passage are such as you 
dream not of. Robbers infest the mountain fastnesses, 
and wild beasts of every degree roam through the for- 
ests.” 

“ So much the better,” said Theseus, confidently. “ I 
will slay the robbers, and the wild beasts shall crouch 
at my feet.” 

” But, my boy, there are giants in those mountains — 
giants before whom no mortal can stand. Consider, I 
implore you, and do not expose yourself needlessly.” 

“ I have considered enough, sire ; and I am deter- 
mined to make my way by land. I fear no mortal 
power ; and if powers immortal are leagued against me, 
I should be no safer upon the sea than upon the land. 
So let that matter rest. When I go, I go by the Isth- 
mus of Corinth. What further have you to say ?” 

Pittheus labored long with his grandson to induce 
him to take the safer route by sea ; but to no avail. 


The First Adve7iture, 


21 


The youth was bound to seek adventure, and those very 
obstacles which the old King pointed out served only as 
so many inducements to the daring spirit. Finally the 
royal guardian was forced to yield, though he did so 
with much reluctance. 

That night Theseus went in to see his mother, and, 
after spending an hour by her bedside, he bade her fare- 
well. She kissed him and blessed him, and hoped that 
she might meet him in Athens ere many weeks had 
passed. She .said nothing to him touching the route he 
was to take, for she supposed that he would of course 
cross the Saronic Gulf, and therefore it only remained 
for her father to furnish a vessel. Theseus was also si- 
lent upon that point, for he knew that his mother would 
strongly oppose his contemplated plan, and he did not 
wish to be called upon to withstand her entreaties. He 
left her with the belief that she would .soon recover, as 
he had received assurance from the physician to that 
effect. 

On the next morning, bright and early, Theseus and 
his two companions were ready to set forth. Pittheus 
would have accomf)anied them part way on their jour- 
ney, but they did not desire it. He offered to send a 
guard with them, but this, also, they declined. 

“ Ah, my son,” said the old King, with a sad .shake of 
the head, “ you know not what dangers you are court- 
ing. It is not too late yet to reconsider.” 

Theseus laughed as he spoke his reply, and, having 
once more embraced the kind old man, he turned from 
the court and was ere long clear of the city. The golden 
sandals were upon his feet, and so lightly and buoyantly 
did he step over the way that he supposed there must 
be some magic virtue in them. 

“ I feel as though I trod on air,” he said. 

“ So you generally feel,” returned Clio. 


22 


Theseus. 


“ Aye,” added Theseus ; “ but these sandals surely 
give new elasticity to my step.” 

“ Because,” rejoined the thoughtful Athenian, “ you 
know that they were your father's.” 

“ Perhaps you are right, good Clio.” 

Before noon the adventurers had left the city of Troe- 
zene far behind them, and when Night spread her cur- 
tain over the earth, they had reached the confines of a 
u-eep, dark forest, where they had hunted many times. 
Beneath a canopy of thick branches they built a fire, 
and cooked a brace of birds which Cassander had shot ; 
and having eaten supper, they lay down upon a bed of 
soft moss and slept. 

Just as the day was breaking Theseus was aroused by 
a strange noise near at hand, and upon starting up he 
beheld a wild boar, not many yards distant, just ready 
to spring upon him. 

“ Thus do the fates send us food,” he cried, as he 
sprang to his feet and seized a javelin. He hurled the 
weapon with an aim so sure that the beast’s heart was 
pierced through and through ; and when Clio and Cas- 
sander awoke and saw what had been done, they straight- 
way built a fire, and having selected some of the tender- 
est pieces of the boar’s carcass they prepared breakfast. 

All that day they traveled through the forest and 
when evening drew nigh again they came to a hamlet 
upon the sea-shore, where dwelt a number of fishermen ; 
and with an old man named Dadmus they found lodg- 
ings for the night. In the morning Dadmus asked them 
whither they were traveling. 

“We are going into Attica,” replied Theseus. 

“ Where is your ship ?” pursued the fisherman. 

“ We have no ship, good sir. We are going by land.” 

“ Ah, my son, that cannot be. The only piece of 
land between this country and Attica is the Isthmus of 


The First Advoiture. 


23 


Corinth ; and surely you would not dare the dangers of 
that passage.” 

The youth smilingly asked why not. 

“ Because,” replied the old man, “ the dangers of that 
dark place are such as no mortal can overcome. You 
had better try to pass over the throned summit of 
Mount Olympus. In the deep forest of the Isthmus 
dwell monsters of such horrid shape and marvelous 
strength that even the gods themselves shudder as they 
pass over the gloomy depths. I beseech you, young 
sir, go no farther than Corinth by land. In that city 
you will find passage by vessel, either across the 
Saronic Gulf or across the Gulf of Corinth.” 

At this point Clio plucked his master by the mantle, 
and drew him out from the fisherman’s hut. 

“ I have a message for you,” he said, ” which your 
grandfather bade me deliver to you after we had passed 
the forest which we have left behind us.” And thus 
speaking he handed to Theseus a small roll of parch- 
ment, tied with a silken cord. 

“Why did he not deliver it himself?” asked the 
youth as he took the roll and cut the string. 

“ Because he wished you to ask him no questions,” 
replied Clio. 

Theseus opened the parchment and read as follows : 

“ Thesus will on no account go within ^sight of Corinth. 
His whole future of usefulness may depend upon his passing 
that city undiscovered. Pittheus.” 

“ But,” said our hero, after he had read the scroll, 
“ how can we obey this ? The walls of Corinth face both 
seas, and there is no passage beyond the reach of her 
eyes.” 

“ There are two ways in which we can obey the 


24 


Theseus. 


injunction,” said the Athenian. “ We can pass Corinth 
by night ; or we can take a boat and pass it by water.” 

“ We will pass it by night,” declared Theseus. ” I 
have said that I would make the passage by land, and 
so it shall be. How far lies Corinth from this place ?” 

“ I think it is some eight leagues.” 

“Just the distance that it should be. We will give 
that city a place behind us before another morning.” 

When Theseus had rewarded Dadmus for his kind- 
ness the old man once more sought to turn him from 
his purpose of crossing the Isthmus ; but our hero did 
not stop to listen. He hastened away with his com- 
panions, and toward the close of the day the walls of 
Corinth were in sight. He waited in a thick grove 
until the darkness of night had settled over the plain, 
and then he set forward again. 

“ I have chosen to obey the injunction of my grand- 
father,” he said, as he walked along by the sea-shore ; 
“ but yet I cannot comprehend the meaning, of this 
extraordinary caution. What harm can come to me in 
such a city ?” 

“ I should judge,” replied Clio, “ that the chief object 
was to prevent your approach being known in 
Athens.” 

“And how does that lighten the matter? Why 
should my entrance into Attica be so carefully con- 
cealed ?” 

Clio shook his head. He could tell nothing about it. 

“ It matters not,” continued Theseus. “ We will 
move on, and trust fate for the result. As for open 
danger I fear it not ; and if there is hidden danger 
from the plottings of secret foes, the right must bear 
me up.” 

Before midnight the party had passed Corinth in 
safety, and within the shelter of the deep forest beyond 


The First Adventure. 


25 


they lay down to take a few hours’ repose. The sun 
was up when Theseus awoke, and having- called his 
companions and eaten his breakfast, he set forward 
again. 

The way was now through thick woods, and as they 
came to the point where the Isthmus widened they 
found upon their left hand a chain of high mountains. 
Late in the afternoon while the sun was hanging upon 
the tree-tops, Theseus observed a huge structure like a 
palace, standing directly in his path. The walls were 
of massive stone, with towers and battlements, and the 
roof of the dwelling-place was of some shining metal. 

“ Mercy !” cried Clio, when he saw this huge fabric. 
“ Here is an obstacle such as I had not counted upon. 
If we find enemies here I fear our progress is stayed.” 

“ Not so,” said Theseus. “ Let not the first obstacle 
daunt us. Do you go forward, Cassander, and demand 
to know who inhabits this place.” 

But Cassander had no need to obey, for hardly had 
Theseus spoken when the huge gate was flung open, 
and a man of gigantic stature stepped forth. He was 
clad in burnished steel from his throat to his knees, and 
in his right hand he carried a sword of ponderous weight, 
while upon his left arm he bore a buckler larger than a 
chariot wheel. 

“ Who art thou that thus bravest the passage of the 
Corinthian Isthmus?” he asked, in a voice of thunder. 

“ I am one to whom the breath of heaven is free,” 
replied our hero, proudly. “ Who art thou ?” 

“ I am Procrustes,” said the giant ; and then he 
watched to see the youth tremble and turn pale. But 
he was disappointed in this, though Clio and Cassander 
exhibited signs of fear. 

“ Ah !" exclaimed Clio, “ we are surely undone ! This 
is the monster who has the iron bedstead to which he 


26 


rheseus. 


fits the bodies of all his victims. If the prisoner is too 
short his body is stretched with pulleys ; and if it is too 
long, the extremities are lopped off. Let us turn back.’’ 

“ Not so,” said Theseus ; and as he spoke, he drew his 
sword and faced the giant. 

Procrustes laughed scornfully. 

“ Poor worm, do you dare my vengeance !” 

“ Aye,” cried our hero ; “ and I challenge thee to sin- 
gle combat.” 

“ Now by the throne of high Olympus,” exclaimed 
the giant, brandishing his huge sword, and moving for- 
ward, ‘‘ thy temerity has cost thee thy life. Thou shalt 
not live to sleep upon my iron bed !” 

Theseus bore his buckler firmly upon his arm and 
grasped his sword with calm decision. Procrustes 
advanced, shaking the ground at every step, and when 
he had gained a proper distance, he aimed a blow at the 
youth’s head, intending to cleave his body in halves ; 
but the son of ^thra was on his guard. With his buck- 
ler he caught the descending blade and turned it harm- 
lessly off ; and then, before the giant could recover him- 
self, he smote him upon the sword arm so severely that 
the limb was utterly powerless. With a yell of pain and 
rage that made the solid earth quake Procrustes dropped 
his buckler and took his sword in his left hand. 

“ Die !” he shouted, springing forward, and aiming 
another blow at the youth. 

But the ponderous weapon only cleaved the empty air, 
for Theseus nimbly slipped aside, and while the giant 
was recovering himself he plunged his keen blade into 
the arm-pit of the monster, driving it clean through the 
body. With a heavy groan, Procrustes fell forward 
upon his face, and immediately expired . Theseus wiped 
the blood carefully from his sword, and then turning to 
his companions he said : 


The First Adve7tture. 


27 


“ Thus do I find the first use for the priceless weapon 
which my father left for me ; and may the gods ordain 
that in the time to come I shall be equally fortunate. 
And now, my friends, before the light of day is wholly 
gone, let us search this giant’s palace. We may find 
something to do within these solid chambers.” 

Thus speaking, Theseus led the way, followed closely 
by Clio and CassSnder. They entered at the gate, and 
crossed a court paved with blocks of rough marble, 
beyond which they found unobstructed access to the 
giant’s dwelling. In the lower apartments they found 
much coarse food, and great heaps of merchandize 
which had been taken from merchants who had unfor- 
tunately sought their way across the isthmus. The 
sight of several iron chests securely locked reminded 
Theseus that he had noticed a bunch of keys hanging 
at the girdle of the giant, and while he overhauled 
some of the rich silken stuffs he sent Clio out after 
them. When the keys were brought the chests were 
opened, and found to contain gold and silver and pre- 
cious stones — a store of wealth which they could not 
count. Clio and Cassander took as much of the gold as 
they could conveniently carry, while Theseus contented 
himself with a few of the rarest jewels. 

In a vaulted chamber, to which the light was 
admitted through an aperture at the top, they found 
a bedstead formed of massive bars of iron, with rollers 
at the head and foot ; and upon it was a man in the last 
agonies of death. Theseus quickly cut the cords that 
bound him to the fatal rack ; but they came too late, 
for the poor man breathed his last as they were lifting 
him from the frame. When they had laid the corse 
upon the floor the day had become so far spent that 
objects were no longer discernible in the palace, 
and Theseus decided that they would suspend further 


28 


Theseus. 


search until morning. They prepared supper in the 
giant’s kitchen, and as our hero sat down to the 
meal he felt well satisfied with the work he had done ; 
and when he retired to rest he called upon the gods with 
renewed faith. 


CHAPTER III. • 

THE IRON CLUB. 

When the morning dawned Theseus awoke and 
found Clio already preparing breakfast. After the 
meal had been eaten Cassander said that he fancied he 
had heard sounds issuing from some place under the 
palace. He had been out into some of the passages 
while Clio had been busy over the fire, and the sounds, 
like groans of human beings, had seemed to come up 
from the bowels of the earth. Theseus took the keys 
and soon found a door which opened to a descending 
flight of steps. Down these he went ; but when he 
reached the bottom he found it so dark that he was 
forced to send Cassander back for a torch. While his 
follower was gone he distinctly heard deep groans issu- 
ing from some place not far distant, and he had no 
doubt that they were the notes of prisoners whom the 
giant had captured. When Cassander returned he bore 
a flaming torch, and the door of the dungeon whence 
the groans came was soon found. A key was selected 
that fitted the lock, and as the iron door was thrown 
open our hero beheld a sight that made him shudder. 

There were fifteen human beings in the damp, cold 
dungeon, all of them entirely naked, save such cover- 
ing as was formed of the dirt and filth of the noisome 
place, At first the light of the torch so dazzled the 


The Iron Club. 


29 


eyes of the poor creatures that they could not see who 
had come to them ; and, supposing it to be their dread- 
ful persecutor, they fell upon their wasted knees and 
begged for mercy. 

“Up, up!" cried Theseus. “I am your deliverer. 
The giant Procrustes is dead, and you are free." 

The wretched beings could hardly credit the evidence 
of their senses ; but in a little while, when their eyes 
became used to the light, they distinguished the hand- 
some face of the youthful hero, and then they began to 
believe what they had heard, and many of them sank 
down again upon their knees, this time to offer praise 
and thanks to their deliverer. 

Some of the prisoners were unable to walk, but they 
were all finally helped to the light and airy apartments 
overhead, where plenty of clothing was found for them ; 
and while Clio and Cassander busied themselves in pre- 
paring food, Theseus sat down and listened to the story 
of the sufferers. They were all merchants, and had 
been captured and robbed by the giant at different 
times. 

“ My name is Ostrus,” said one who appeared stronger 
than his companions, “ and I belong in Corinth. I was 
sailing from Argos, and our ship was driven upon this 
coast by a storm, when the giant attacked us, killing all 
the crew, and making prisoners of us who owned the 
venture. These other men are also merchants, — some 
from Corinth, some from Argos, and some from differ- 
ent cities in Attica. There were twenty of us in the 
dungeon a few days ago, but five of our number have 
been taken away to rest upon a fatal iron bed which the 
monster has kept somewhere in his dread abode. I 
think my turn would have come next. But, kind sir, 
you have saved me, and such reward as I cannot return 
I must beseech the gods to give you," 


30 


Theseus. 


TheseUvS listened to the different stories until his com- 
panions had prepared sufficient refreshment, and then, 
with his own hands, he assisted in helping the famishing 
ones. After they had satisfied their hunger he took 
them out and showed them the dead carcass of their 
enemy, which sight seemed to give them new strength. 

“ Now ” said our hero, when he had done all that he 
could, “ I must leave you to yourselves. Between here 
and Corinth there’s no more danger. You are all mer- 
chants, and I trust that you are all honorable men. At 
any rate, a common suffering, and a common deliver- 
ance, should make you honorable one toward another. 
In this palace is immense wealth, for which I and my 
companions have no use and no desire. Much of it is 
probably already by right your own, and the rest I shall 
leave at your disposal. Take it ; divide it fairly ; and 
make such use of it as shall add new blessings to your 
lives. Remember the poor, and when you offer up your 
sacrifices to the gods forget not him who rescued you 
from the jaws of death.” 

The merchants desired to know the name of their de- 
liverer ; but in this he could not gratify them. 

“ It is all the same,” he said. “ The gods will know 
for whom your offerings are made.” 

They promised that they would remember him al- 
ways ; and they furthermore promised that the wealth 
which had fallen to them in so marvelous a manner 
should be honorably and equitably divided. 

Theseus could do no more for them, and having 
given them directions to bury the body of the giant, he 
set forth again on his journey. Late in the afternoon 
he reached a point where the road swept down to the 
shore of the sea, and here he found some fishermen just 
drawing in their nets, who, when they saw him, dropped 
their ropes and fled in terror toward their boat. He 


The T'on Chib. 


31 


stopped them, however, and soon made them under- 
stand that he meant them no harm ; and he even went 
so far as to help them draw in their nets, after which 
he took some of the fish and had them cooked for his 
supper. When the day was gone, and Hesperus had 
led forth the stars beneath the eye of Night, he sat with 
the fishermen by the blazing fire, and listened to their 
stories of adventure upon the sea, and in return he told 
to them stories of heroic deeds upon the land. 

In the morning the fishermen offered to take Theseus 
and his companions in their boats ; but he told them 
that he had no need of the help they so kindly offered. 

“ But,” said the leader of the crew, “ you cannot, from 
this place, travel either way in safety. If you go to 
Corinth, you will meet the giant Procrustes, who, if you 
survive his sword, will surely kill you upon his terrible 
iron bed.” ^ 

“ If you wish to go hence to Corinth by land,” replied 
Theseus, “ be assured you may do so in safety, for Pro- 
crustes is dead. I slew him yesterday with my own hand, 
and set free all the prisoners he had confined in his 
drear abode.” 

At first the fishermen were not inclined to believe 
this wonderful story ; but when Theseus produced the 
sword which he had taken from the giant, and which 
Clio had brought away, they were convinced. 

“ Still,” said the chief of the fishermen — a man well 
advanced in years — “ you have not swept away all 
danger. If I judge rightly, you are bound toward 
Attica.” 

Theseus replied that he was. 

“ Then,” pursued the fisherman, “ you are in greater 
danger than any you have yet encountered. Not many 
leagues to the east of this place, and close by the road 
which you must travel, dvvells a monster, in human 


32 


Thesetis. 


form, named Periphetes. He is far more terrible in 
his gigantic powers and brutal disposition than was Pro- 
crustes. He is always armed with an iron club, so 
ponderous that no ordinary man can lift it, with which 
he kills all who come in his way. He spares neither 
age nor sex, and the court of his dark abode is entirely 
paved with human bones. Ah, my dear youth, let me 
counsel you. Tempt not the unconquerable power and 
wrath of this ugly Titan. I will take you to the shores 
of Attica, and land you in safety.” 

Clio and Cassander joined the fisherman in his 
prayer. 

“ Why, — how is this ?” cried our hero, turning toward 
his companions. “ Are you afraid ? If it so be, I give 
you full permission to retrace your steps.” 

“ My dear master,” said the Athenian, “ you mistake. 
For ourselves we care not at all ; but for you our hearts 
are ill at ease. I know that the things whereof the 
fisherman has told us are true. I have heard often of 
the monster Periphetes, and 1 think no mortal arm can 
overcome him. And. moreover, our way will be 
shorter by water.” 

“ My good Clio,” replied the youth, arising to his feet, 
and drawing his sword-belt more tightly around him, 
“ if you fear only for me, let your fears be at rest. I 
am ready now to set forth.” 

Both Clio and Cassander knew that further expostu- 
lation would be useless, so they prepared to follow their 
master. The fishermen were amazed when they saw 
the young man determined to brave the danger they 
had pointed out : and they were fully persuaded that 
the bones of himself and his companions would soon be 
added to the ghastly pavement of the court of Peri- 
phetes’ palace. 

But no such fears engaged the thoughts of Theseus. 


The Iron Club. 


33 


He set forth with a light, buoyant step, and erelong he 
had so infused his spirit into his companions that they, 
for the time, lost all apprehension of trouble. At noon 
they reached a spring of pure, sparkling water, and 
beneath the shade of wide-spreading olives they sat 
down to their dinner. In the afternoon Clio slew a wild 
boar, which furnished meat for supper. The night was 
spent in a deep vale, within sound of the beating waves 
of the sea, where thick foliage afforded sufficient shel- 
ter. In the morning, as soon as the sun was up, they 
started on again, and toward the middle of the fore- 
noon they were startled by the sound of a horse’s step, 
and while they stood listening they saw a horseman 
coming toward them at a furious pace, and would evi- 
dently have passed them without stopping had they not 
placed themselves directly in his way. 

“ In mercy’s name, good gentlemen,” cried the rider, 
“ I implore you, do me no harm. I am an unfortunate 
man, fleeing from death.” As he spoke he reined in his 
foaming steed, and as the animal came to a standstill he 
seemed ready to drop from exhaustion. The stranger 
was sorely distressed with fright; his garments were torn 
and his flesh lacerated, and his long hair floated wildly 
in the wind. 

“ We mean you no harm,” said Theseus, kindly. “ We 
only wish to know why you ride so hotly through the 
forest.” 

“Alas, kind gentlemen,” replied the .stranger, “ if 
you are of human mould, then turn and fly with me. 
Two leagues back from here I left the most horrible 
monster that the earth ever bore upon its bosom. 1 
had six companions and he slew them all. The fleet- 
ness of my horse brought me in safety away.” 

“ Have you met the monster Periphetes ?” demanded 
our hero. 


Theseus. 


34 

“Yes, fair sir; and a more terrible being I never I 
conceived of. His iron club marks the earth with deep g 
seams wherever his blows fall.” " 

Theseus cared not to question the man further, as he i 
was anxious to meet Periphetes ; so he directed him 1 
how he might reach Corinth in safety, and then dis- 1 
missed him. ' 

Half an hour after this Theseus and his companions 
stopped for dinner, and while they ate, [the youth farxied 
that Clio and Cassander trembled. 

“ Hearken untome,” he said, after he had finished his 
meal. “ If you are afraid, remain here, while I go on 
and meet the monster alone. 1 would not draw you into 
danger which you shun.” 

But they both protested that they were not afraid. 
If they had misgivings, it was only for their master. 

Theseus laughed at the thought of danger to himself ; 
and as they once more went on their way, he related to 
them marvelous stories of the deeds of immortal heroes 

They had reached the summit of a gentle hill, where 
our hero had stopped to wipe the perspiration from his 
brow, when Clio di.scovered the walls of a palace rising 
above the trees, at no great distance ahead. 

“ It is the abode of Periphetes,” he said, in a whisper. 

The soul of Theseus was fired in an instant. 

“ I think you speak truly, Clio,” he exclaimed, at the 
same time unslinging his buckler from his back. “ When 
Hesperus leads forth his starry host to-night, the Corin- 
thian Isthmus shall be freed from the presence of the 
dread monster, or the fair ..dEthra shall be childless. 
Follow me, and let not our eyes be turned behind us 
until all danger is swept from our path.” 

Thus speaking, Theseus started forward, and ere long 
he reached the open space before the palace. The 
structure was of gray stone, with walls of great height. 


The Iroji Club. 


35 


• and seemed fit to withstand the assault of an army. 

■ Upon approaching nearer, our hero beheld upon the 
ground, where the sward was reddened with gore, a 
( number of human bodies, mangled and crushed in a 
, most horrid manner. At the sight of this dreadful scene 
1 he drew his sword, and, in a loud tone, demanded to 
j know who had done this thing. The answer to his 
j demand was a Tartarian roar, and in a few seconds more 
Per'phetes presented himself. He was indeed a mon- 
ster to behold. In height he towered above ordinary 
men as men tower above suckling babes ; in breadth of 
shoulders and span of limb he was like the wild elephant. 
His eyes were of a fiery red color, burning like coals ; 
and his swart bosom was covered with hair like a buf- 
falo. In his hand he bore an iron club of enormous 
size, the end of which was armed with barbed knots of 
tempered steel. Clio and Cassander would have come 
to the assistance of their master, but he ordered them 
to stand back. 

“Advance not,” he said, “unless you see that I 
am likely to be overcome ; in which case you will step 
quickly up and let fly your arrows at the monster’s 
eyes.” 

“ How now !” cried Periphetes, advancing, and swing- 
ing his club in the air. “ Whence come you, my poor 
child ?” 

“ I come from the country of Argolis, and am going 
into Attica,” replied Theseus. 

“ Ho, ho, — into Attica, eh ? Not quite so fast, boy. 
I’ll put thy bones in my pavement. You were careless 
to come this way ; but it is no fault of mine ; so 
shut your eyes, for your last moment has come !” 

When Clio and Cassander saw the iron club raised they 
thought most surely that their master could not escape, 
wherefore they quickly fixed their arrows to their bow- 


36 


Theseus. 




strings ; but they did not fire. Quick as the flash thatll 
darts through the heavens when the storm-crash comes,*! 
darted Theseus from beneath the iron club, and as’* 
he saw the terrible weapon strike the ground he gave* 
the monster a blow upon the right wrist that almost sev-|l 
ered the hand from the arm. With a howl of pain and''l 
rage that re-echoed through the forest like thunder I 
he lifted his club again and smote at the youth with alljjl 
his might ; but he had now met one who was not para-jl 
lyzed by his presence, and whose address more thanli 
made up for the disparity in brute force. Again} I 
did Theseus avoid the descending club, and again, with | 
unerring aim, did he smite the Titan upon the wrist., | 
Another howl, more dreadful than the first, broke likeli 
an earthquake upon the air, and when Periphetes sought 
to raise his club the third time it fell from his nerveless ; 
grasp. His next attempt was to crush the youth with, 
his foot, which he might easily have done had hisl' 
antagonist been stricken with fear ; but no such emo-ii 
tion had yet entered the bosom of Theseus. He^i 
not only had the utmost confidence in his own prowess, 
but the sword of his father was a bolt of heaven in 
his hand. As the giant advanced upon him he smote the 
leg that was raised for his annihilation, and then sprang^’ 
back. Howling and limping the monster now hurled 
himself forward to crush his enemy as with' the weight, 
of a mountain. Theseus let him come, receiving him " 
upon the point of his sword, which he drove clean * 
through the huge body. Periphetes started back, thus ' 
enabling the youth to withdraw his blade, and as:;i 
he glanced down toward the mortal wound he observed y 
the hilt of his antagonist’s sword — the curiously | 
entwined serpents of silver and gold, and the resplend- 
ent carbuncle. 

“ Ha !” he exclaimed, trying to shade his eyes with 


The Iron Chib. 


37 


his dangling hand, “ thou art the son of -^thra ! Thy 
name is Theseus !” 

The hero gazed upon the giant in astonishment. 

“ How know 5"ou this ?” he asked, holding back his 
blade. 

I know it very well, for none but Theseus could * 
have possessed his father’s sword. O ! — O ! — O ! — this 
is death !. May the gods blast thee forever !” 

The monster threw up his arms as he spoke, and fell 
backward with a force that made the ground shake. 
Theseus hastened to the side of his victim and found 
him still breathing. 

“ Periphetes, answer me one question before you die : 
Who is my father ?” 

“ Do you not know T' 

“ I do not.” 

“ Then the knowledge shall never be yours. You 
have slain me ; but there are dangers before you which 
you cannot overcome. Oh, you need not grasp your 
sword so fiercely, for the dangers of which I speak are 
not to be open ones. Between you and your father is 
woven a web so dark and so strong that your eyes will 
not discover it until you are fast within its fatal 
meshes.” 

“ What mean you ? Speak ! speak !” 

But the monster Periphetes spoke no more. His 
eyes glared for a moment like sparks in some smould- 
ering ruin, and then, with a deep groan, he expired. 

Theseus and his companions stood for a short time 
and eyed the dead colossus, and then they turned 
toward the palace; but they did not care to spend a 
long while in those sombre chambers. They found no 
living thing within, but everywhere only the ghastly 
mouldering remains of the unfortunate victims who 
had fallen beneath the dreadful iron club. 


38 


Theseus. 


When they once more resumed their journey Theseus 
was silent and thoughtful. The words of Periphetes 
had given him more real concern than the presence of 
a hundred armed enemies could have done. What 
mystery was locked up in the dark sayings that had 
fallen upon his ears ? What was it that lay so threaten- 
ingly between him and his father ? Little dreamed he 
then what the future had in store for him ! 


CHAPTER IV. 

THESEUS FINDS USE FOR THE IRON CLUB. 

On the day following the adventure with Periphetes, 
Theseus entered Attica, and toward night he arrived at 
the town of Daphne. He would have avoided this 
place if the thing had been possible, but the town lay 
close by the only pass through the mountains, and to 
have gone any other way would have cost him many 
days of travel ; so he entered with a bold step, and 
sought an inn where travelers were lodged. It was not 
personal danger that the youth feared, for such a feel- 
ing had never yet found lodgment in his soul ; but he 
feared that he might possibly be detained in his mis- 
sion. Something whispered to him that it was of the 
utmost importance that he should speedily find his 
father ; and not only from the order of his grandfather 
touching his avoiding Corinth, but also from the words 
of the dying Periphetes, he was led to believe that he 
had enemies who would stay his progress if they could. 
At that moment he would have given all he possessed, 
save his sword and sandals, could he have spoken his 
father’s name ; but .since that privilege was denied him. 


Theseus finds use for the Iron Chib. 39 


he must be content to wait until he could find Orestes, 
the silversmith. 

Daphne was a place of beautiful groves and bloom- 
ing gardens, so near to the sea that the gentle murmur 
of the breaking waves was borne musically upon the 
air, and many of the wealthy citizens of Athens often 
came there to enjoy the refreshing breezes that came 
up from the sea, or swept down from the mountains. 

While Theseus and his companions were resting after 
supper, in a far-off apartment, there was commotion in 
the court of the inn, where a long table was spread be- 
neath some olive trees, and where were gathered a 
score or more of people of different grades and classes. 

“ I tell you I saw it with my own eyes,” said the 
host, a small, elderly man, whose accent betrayed him 
to be from Thessaly, “ I saw it as plainly as I ever saw 
anything in my life.” 

“Out upon thee. Master Orphus,” cried one of the 
guests. “ Thou kiiowest it could not be,” 

“ If I had not seen it with these very eyes which now 
look upon thee, I might not have believed,” asserted 
Orphus ; “ but my sight does not deceive me. If the 
youth bore not the iron club of the monster Periphetes, 
then I’ll give thee this inn, and all it contains.” 

“ Why,” exclaimed a second of the guests, who had 
just emptied a cup of wine, “ how know you that it was 
the club of Periphetes ? Did you ever see the giant ?” 

“ Aye, — did you ever see the giant .?” echoed the first 
guest. 

“ You talk like fools,” retorted Orphus. “ I never saw 
a lion ; but I think I should not mistake a lion for a 
boar, should one chance to cross my path. I never saw 
the iron club of Periphetes until this night ; but I have 
seen those who had seen it, and from their description 
I know that such another club was never made. I stand 


40 


Theseus. 


to my promise. If it is not as I say I’ll give thee this 
inn,” 

“ And all it contains, you said ?” 

“ Nay — not so,” 

“ Ah, but you said so,” 

“ How could I have said so, when my wife is the law- 
ful owner of much that we use.” 

“ O Orphus, you said, the inn, and all that it con- 
tained.” I 

“ If I said so, then ’twas a slip of the tongue ; for, by 
high Olympus, I think the man would rue the hour in 
the which he took to himself goods belonging to the 
fair Thalia,” 

The guests smiled, for they knew the character of the 
wife of Orphus ; 'and some of them shrank instinctively 
back as they fancied themselves exciting her wrath, 

” I’ faith, bold Orphus, thou art marvelous free with 
thy goods and chattels. To whom does this inn be- 
long ?” 

“ Not to Orphus ! Not to Orphus !” cried half a dozen 
voices. 

“ Now may Vulcan seize thee, and hammer thee upon 
his anvil. Thou art a wicked and perverse set. But I 
swear unto thee, if it was not the club of Periphetes 
which this youth bore, then I’ll give thee this head of 
mine.” 

“ That cannot be,” cried a wicked wretch, who had 
been quaffing his wine at the lower end of the table. 
‘‘ That prize, good Orphus, belongs to the public exe- 
cutioner.” 

The host was preparing for a sharp reply when a 
stranger entered the court of the inn, the dust upon 
whose garments showed that he had been traveling. 

“ Men of Daphne,” he cried, advancing to the table, 
“ I give you joy. I give to all the people of Attica joy. 


Theseus finds use for the Ir 07 i Club, 41 


The Corinthian Isthmus is no longer the highway of 
Death. The monsters Procrustes and Periphetes are 
both dead.” 

“ Dead !” repeated a score of voices. ‘‘ How know 
you this ?” 

“ I have seen the dead body of Periphetes with my 
own eyes ; and from some fishermen whom I saw upon 
the coast as I came along, I learn that the monster 
who stretched his victims upon the horrible iron bed 
is also dead. They were both slain by a youth who 
came from some part of Argolis.” 

“ Now, fools !” cried Orphus, lifting his head as high 
as he could, “ what think ye of my eyes ? By the shades 
of Pluto I’ve a mind to kick you all into the street.” 

But the guests paid little heed to the words of the 
host. They gathered around the stranger, eager to hear 
his story. 

While this was going on three more persons entered 
the court, and called for wine ; and as they drank they 
listened attentively to the story which the traveler was 
telling. By and by, when they had heard all there was 
to hear, they paid for their wine and left the inn, and 
when they were in the dark street they stopped. 

“ What think ye of this ?” said one of them. 

“ It must be Theseus,” answered both the others. 

“ Certainly it must be,” added the first speaker, “ And 
he is even now beneath the roof of the inn. I’ faith, our 
mission prospers. We must hasten with this intelli- 
gence, or we may be too late.” 

“ I think there can be no mistake,” said one of the 
others, hesitatingly. 

“ Of course, there can be no mistake, We^know that 
the youth has left Troezene, as our messengers brought 
us word across the sea ; and we know that the death of 


42 


Theseus, 


the two giants must have been the work of his hands. 
What further proof do we need ?” 

And with this the three men sought the place where 
they had left their horses, and were soon dashing away 
toward Athens. 

In the morning Theseus and his companions arose 
early, and left the inn before any one else was stirring. 
They had paid their reckoning on the night before, so 
they had nothing to wait for. At the distance of a 
league from Daphne they came to the cot of an humble 
herdsman, where they obtained breakfast ; and when 
they set forth from this place the sun had been up not 
more than an hour. 

“ I think,” said Theseus, as they stopped upon the 
brow of a hill, “ that Athens cannot be far distant.” 

“ When we have passed the valley before us,” replied 
Clio, “ and gained the top of yonder eminence, we shall 
behold the Temple of Minerva, and some of the struc- 
tures upon the Hill of Mars.” 

“ Are we so near ?” 

“ Yes, my master.” 

“ I think I shall have no difficulty in finding Orestes, 
the silversmith,” 

“ I see not how there can be difficulty in the way.” 

“ Do you know this silversmith T' ^ 

“ Only by name. I never saw him.” 

“ By the crown of Jove !” exclaimed Theseus, as he 
leaned upon the iron club of Periphetes, ” I think we 
shall find no more obstacles to our progress. I have 
felt some misgivings.” 

“ Not since you slew Periphetes ?” 

“ Yes, Clio, else I had had no misgivings at all ; for 
such obstacles as can be swept from before me by sword 
are not worthy to be^ accounted as such. But let us 
hasten. We will reach Athens before noon, and ere 


Theseus Jifids use for the Iron Club. 43 


this day is gone I may stand face to face with my 
father.” 

They descended the hill, and when they reached the 
vale they entered a grove of olives, beyond which they 
came to an open plain, where sheep were grazing. 
They had arrived at a point where a small brook went 
murmuring through the centre of the plain, when they 
beheld a body of armed men emerge from the wood 
directly before them. 

“ Ah,” said Theseus, “ here is some expedition from 
Athens.” 

“ Shall we move aside and ’allow them to pass us 
unquestioned ?” asked Clio. 

“ No,” replied the youth ; “ for that would look as 
though we feared them. How many are there ?” 

“ I count just a score of them,” said Cassander. 

“ More than that,” added Clio. “ There are two-and- 
twenty.” 

“ They are stout-looking fellows,” said Theseus, “ and 
do credit, in their appearance, to the Athenian war- 
riors.” 

By this time the strangers were close at hand, and as 
they came straight toward our three adventurers, the 
latter stopped. Eighteen of the warriors were on foot, 
the other four being mounted upon stout horses. Our 
iiero moved aside as though he would allow them to' 
pass, but they did not accept the proffered opportunity. 
They stopped directly before him, and he who seemed 
to be the leader-^-a powerful, middle-aged man, armed 
with sword and buckler, and mounted — addressed the 
youth as follows : 

“ Hold, fair sir, and answer me a question.” 

The tone was overbearing, such as Theseus had not 
been accustomed to, and his blood was up in a moment, 

“ Are you from Argolis ?” 


44 


Theseus. 


“ I am going to Athens,” replied the youth ; “ and in 
Athens I am willing to be questioned.” 

“ But I choose to question you here,” returned the 
officer, “and you will act wisely if you answer me. 
Are you from Argolis ?” 

Now Theseus very well knew that no friend, who 
sought to aid him, would speak in such tones ; and he 
quickly made up his mind that these were enemies. He 
saw it in their looks ; and Clio saw it, too ; for he whis- 
pered to his master : 

“ See how they clutch their swords !” 

“ I see them,” answered Theseus ; and then turning 
to the officer, he continued : 

“ I like not your tone, nor do I like the manner in 
which you salute me. If you have business with me, 
let me know its import.” 

“First,” retorted the officer, “I would know your 
name.” 

“ And what if I choose not to give it ?” 

“ Then you cannot pass on to Athens.” 
j “ What shall prevent me ?” 

' “ I shall prevent it.” 

i “You?” 
i “Yes.” 

“ Now, by the gods !” cried Theseus, towering aloft in 
the majesty of his wrath, and closing his hands upon' 
the iron club which he bore, “ I know that you are my 
enemies. If you are not, and have planned me no harm, 
pass quietly on, and begone from my sight. But, if you 
are enemies, and have planned to do me mortal injury, 
say so, that I may make no fatal mistake.” 

“ Surely, young sir, you would not think of offering 
mortal combat to us.” 

“ No ; it is for you to offer.” 

“ And what if we do offer ?” 


Theseus fields tise for the Iro 7 i Club. 45 


“ That remains to be seen.” 

“ Braggart, your own words have spoken your doom. 
Whatever may have been our intentions at first, we will 
no longer conceal from you that we are enemies. Your 
name we know. Theseus will never see Athens ! So 
if you choose, you may drop that mass of iron and draw 
your sword.” 

I “ My father’s sword shall not be stained with the 
blood of such cravens !” cried our hero, raising the club 
as though it had been a staff of wood. 

! The Athenian warriors had evidently supposed that 
no mortal man, of ordinary mould, could wield that 
ponderous iron club ; but in this they were wofully de- 
ceived. Like a thunderbolt hurled from the hands of 
Jove himself dashed Theseus upon the astounded war- 
riors. With one sweep of his terrible weapon he crushed 
the chief to the earth, breaking half the bones in his 
body. Another sweep, and three of the stoutest war- 
riors went down as though a mountain had tumbled 
upon them. The club served him for both sword and 
buckler ; for, as he swung it about his head with the 
speed of lightning, no arm could reach him. Clio and 
Cassander were not idle, and even in them the Athe- 
nians found a force almost irresistible. Two horses 
had gone down beneath the dreadful club, and twelve 
men had been crushed out of human shape by its fatal 
weight, while Clio and Cassander had stricken down all 
who had come within their reach. Finally, two horsemen 
were left alone of all the gang, and they, in deepest ter- 
ror, turned and dashed away at the top of their speed. 

“ O that I had the wings of Mercury !” cried Theseus 
as he saw the two horsemen escaping. 

“ Surely,” said Clio, wiping the blood from his sword, 
“ we have no rea.son to complain.” 

“ I am not complaining, good Clio,” returned Theseus. 


46 


Theseus. 


“ And yet,” he added, thoughtfully, “ I wish those fel- 
lows had not escaped. I like not that they should en- 
ter Athens before me,” 

“ There is something in that,”- admitted Clio. “ But, 
since we cannot go in advance, suppose we follow them 
as closely as possible.” 

“ Well spoken, Clio. We will not be long in reaching 
the city.” And thus speaking, Theseus swung his club : 
upon his shoulder, and started on at a rapid pace. s 

At the summit of the next hill, as Clio had promised, 1 
they had the city of Athens in sight, and far beyond 
lay the blue waters of the Saronic gulf. To the left,'^ 
upon a towering rock, stood the Acropolis, with its 
white walls glistening in the sunlight, while to the 
right the Hill of Mars lifted its front, bearing upon its 
summit, and upon its sloping sides, many habitations. 
But Theseus did not stop long to view the scene. He 
simply saw that the city before him was the grandest 
he had ever seen, and then he moved on toward the 
vale beneath. 

The sun was at its meridian height when our advent- 
urers entered the city of Athens, and Theseus asked of 
one of the soldiers who stood at the gate, if he could 
direct him to the dwelling of Orestes, the silversmith. 
The soldier had heard the name of the old craftsman, but 
he knew not where he lived. A little further on Theseus 
met an old man, with a basket of fruit in his hand, of 
whom he asked the same information that he had asked 
of the soldier. 

“ Certainly,” replied the old man, in a frank tone, 

“ I know Orestes very well, for my own dwelling is not 
far from his. I talked with him this very morning, 
and saw him make the bow for a silver cupid that he 
has been fashioning. Oh, he is a rare workman, fair sir ; 


Theseus finds tise for the Iro7i Club. 


and if you would have anything done in his line, let me 
recommend you not to pass him by.” 

“ I have something for him to do,” said Theseus, 
“and I should like to see him at once.” 

“ If you will come with me, fair sir, you shall not 
wait long without seeing him. I will lead you directly 
to his door, and into his presence if you wish.” 

“ Lead on, my friend.” 

The old man shifted his load to the other arm, and 
started on. The youth fancied that the' basket might 
be heavy for him to carry, and he asked Clio to take it. 

“ It would give me pleasure to be rid of my burden,” 
said the guide, as Clio offered to carry it ; “ but I hope 
you will not eat any of the fruit, for I am a poor man, 
and my wife and children are looking anxiously for 
what I am to bring them.” 

Theseus promised that he would pay roundly for all 
the fruit that might be missing, so the old man gave up 
his load, after which he stepped forward more rapidly. 

After threading many streets they reached that part 
of the city directly below the rocky eminence upon 
which stood the Acropolis, where the guide at length 
stopped before a small gate, the frame of which was set 
in a high wall of hewn stone. 

“ Is this the dwelling of Orestes ?” asked Theseus. 

“ It is,” was the reply. 

“ He has it strongly fortified.” 

“ Ah, fair sir, you must remember that he has much 
wealth stored within his abode. By my life, robbers 
would find plenty of plunder could they but pass 
this wall at night.” 

Before our hero coiild ask any more questions 
the summons of the guide was answered by the opening 
of the gate and the appearance of a man servant. 

“ Is your master at home ?” asked the guide. 


48 


Theseus. 


“ He is.” 

“ Then here are some gentlemen who wish to see { 
him. Now, fair sir,” continued the old man, turning to 
the youth, “ this fellow will conduct you to the presence , 
of Orestes, the silversmith. If you are with him ' 
to-morrow, I shall see you again. Thank you, sir ; you | 
have relieved me wonderfully. Zounds ! when I was of 
your age I could carry as much as you ; but I am young 
no longer.” This last was addressed to Clio, who deliv- 
ered up the basket as he had received it. 1 

Theseus gave the old fellow a piece of silver, and hav- 
ing thanked him in addition, he turned and signified his j 
readiness to follow the servant, who was waiting to con- j 
duct him. 


CHAPTER V. 

IN THE dark! 

After Theseus and his companions had entered the 
outer court the servant closed the gate behind them, 
and then led the way to the dwelling, which was 
of brick, the different apartments all opening into the 
inner court. They were conducted to a well furnished 
apartment, where they were informed they could wait 
until the master made his appearance. Presently the 
servant returned and asked Theseus if he had eaten 
dinner. 

“ Not a morsel since early dawn,” ventured Clio, who 
was very hungry. 

“ My companion speaks the truth,” added Theseus. ' 

“ My master is just now very busy with a noble gen- 
tleman for whom he is at work, and he says if you will 


In the Dark / 


49 


partake of some refreshment, he will join you by the 
time you have finished.” 

Our hero assented to this ; so he followed the servant 
to another apartment, where a table was spread, upon 
which was bread, and meat, and wine, and various dried 
fruits. 

“ By my life,” cried Clio, as he closed his teeth upon 
a piece of the tender meat, “ I think this is a proper ar- 
rangement. The silversmith is a man of sense.” 

” You have not the desire to see him that I have,” re- 
turned Theseus, “ else your craving for food might not 
rule you so mightily.” 

“ Yet, my master, you must confess that a full stom- 
ach gives excellent tone to a long conversation. After 
this you will be just in the mood to question the old fel- 
low. By the leafy crown of Bacchus, but this wine is 
good. Have you tasted it, my lord?” 

“ Not yet, Clio. I am not so fond of wine as thou art. 
I love the juice of the vine while it is fresh and sweet 
in its purity ; but when age has given it the sharpness 
of serpents’ teeth I am shy of it.” 

“ You will grow wiser as you grow older, my lord,” 
laughed Clio, as he poured out a second cup of wine. 

Theseus filled his own cup, and found the wine of an 
excellent flavor ; but he did not drink much of it ; for, 
as he had told his companion, he was not fond of it. 

When the meal was finished the servant returned and 
informed Theseus that his master would now see him. 

“ And,” he added, “ he would see you alone, as he has 
something to say which is of importance.” 

This struck the youth as being perfectly proper, and 
without question he directed his companions to remain 
where they were until he called for them. 

After their young master had gone Clio and Cas- 


50 


Theseus. 


Sander eat a little more, and drank a little more of the 
wine. 

“ Zounds !” cried Clio, as he poured down his capa- 
cious throat the wine which Theseus had left in his cup, 

“ what a perverted taste our lord has got. I don’t 
believe that Hebe ever presented to the gods a more deli- 
cious beverage than this.” 

“ You are right,” said Cassander, emptying his fourth 
cup. “ Bless me, I should like to live with the old 
silversmith if he serves up such wine as this at every 
meal.” 

“ Never mind,” replied Clio, arising from his chair ; 
“ there is plenty of good wine in Athens. And now let 
us walk out into the court and breathe some fresh air, 
for I begin to feel stifled in this close atmosphere.” 

“ So do I,” returned Cassander. “ I am not used to 
these sealed apartments.” 

If they had cast their eyes about them they would 
have seen that there were not only four open windows 
in the walls, but that the outer door was also open. 
However, they went out as had been proposed, and in 
the outer court they found an arbor of vines, within 
which were several rudely constructed seats ; and here 
they sat down. 

“ I tell thee, Cassander,” said Clio, yawning, “ the* 
god Somnus is at my elbow. I am sleepy.” 

“ So am I,” responded Cassander. 

Clio did not speak again, for his head had sunk back, 
and he was sound asleep. Nor did Cassander wait for 
any reply to his last speech, for the words had hardly 
escaped his lips when he, too, lost all consciousness. 

Shortly after this the servant who had conducted the 
party into the house came out and looked eagerly 
around. Finally he came to the arbor, and when he 
saw two men fast asleep he nodded and smiled. He 


In the Dark / 


51 


went in and touched them upon the shoulders and upon 
the cheeks, and even upon the lips, but they were not 
disturbed. Their sleep was too sound to be easily 
broken. The man assured himself that the sleepers 
were safely locked within the embrace of the drowsy 
god, after which he went back to the house ; and when 
he next came forth three stout companions accompanied 
him. 

In the meantime Theseus had been led to another 
apartment, where he found an old man with white hair 
and beard, wearing silver-strapped sandals, and a robe 
of dark cloth ornamented with silver cord. His face 
was deeply furrowed, and his small grey eyes much 
sunken. The youth was disappointed. He had pic- 
tured to himself a kindly-looking, frank old man whose 
very face would invite confidence ; but he did not find 
it so. However, he dreamed of nothing wrong ; and 
this man might be better than he looked. 

“ Welcome, brave youth,” said the host, advancing 
and extending his hand. He spoke frankly enough and 
seemed glad to see his visitor. 

“ Do I speak with Orestes ?” asked Theseus. 

” You do, fair sir ; and I think I have the pleasure of 
welcoming the son of .^Ethra beneath my roof ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Theseus 

“ Such is my name.” 

‘‘ Your good mother sent you unto me ?” 

“ Yes, sir ; and she said you would conduct me to my 
father.” 

“ Certainly. I have looked for you these many days. 
Sit down, sir, and rest; for I think you have traveled 
far.” 

Theseus sat down. 

“ My servant provided refreshment for you ?” 


52 


Theseus. 


“ Yes.” 

“ And he gave you wine ?” * 

“ Yes.” 

“ Was the wine good ?” 

“ I thought so, sir ; though I drank but very little. I 
am not a lover of wine.” 

The old man looked carefully into the youth’s face, as 
though he would weigh the truth of every word. At 
first he seemed a little troubled, but he quickly recov- 
ered himself. 

“ Your taste is a fortunate one, Theseus. Men who 
pay too much devotion at the shrine of Bacchus are not 
fit to govern. You spoke of your father. Had you 
been here on the day before yesterday I could have led 
you directly to him ; but now you must wait. He has 
left the city, and will not return for several days. How- 
ever, that need not worry you, for my house shall 
be your home.” 

“One thing you can do, sir, at once,” said Theseus, 
eagerly. “ You can tell me the name of my father ; 
you can tell me who he is.” 

“ Your mother did not tell you this ?” 

“ If she had there would have been no need of 
my seeking you.” 

“ True, my son. I see how the matter stands. You 
are anxious to know the quality of the blood that flows 
in your veins. Did your mother lead you to understand 
that you would take noble position in Athens ?” 

“She led me to understand nothing.” 

“ Poor u^Jthra !” uttered the old man, resting his 
hands upon his knees and gazing down upon the floor. 

“ How, sir !” cried Theseus with a start. 

“ Ah, my son, I fear you have been led to expect too 
much. Did your mother ever tell you how she first 
met your father 


In the Dark ! 53 


“ Old man,” exclaimed our hero, rising to his feet, 
“ speak plainly. I have come to you for information. 
Tell me what you have to tell, and I shall be grateful.” 

' “ Ah, not so grateful as you may imagine, young sir. 

j Your father is a brave man, and one of the best soldiers 
in Attica ; but — ” 

“ Speak on, sir.” 

“ My dear Theseus, let me advise you. Wait until 
your father returns, and then he will tell you all 
you wish to know.” 

“You called my father a soldier. Is he a com- 
mon soldier ?” 

“ Why do you ask ?” 

“ Because I would know.” 

“ The answer may not please you.” 

“ Your refusal to answer will please me less.” 

“ Well, my son, since you demand it, I will give you 
the answer you seek. Your father is a common soldier.” 

“ Then how came he to marry with the daughter of a 
king?” 

“ Before I answer that question, my dear Theseus, let 
me call your attention to a simple fact : Troezene is not 
an important place, and its King is not a monarch of 
much note.” 

“ Hold, sir !” cried the youth, with a flushed brow.' 
“ My grandfather is King, and that is enough. His 
subjects pay him homage, and he is their law-giver. 
My mother is his daughter. Now, I ask you, how came 
she to marry with a common soldier ?” 

“ My son, I have a mind to answer thee plainly.” 

“ You will please me if you do.” 

“ At all events, you cannot blame me.” 

“ Not at all.” 

“ Then sit down and listen.” 


54 


Theseus. 


Our hero resumed his seat, and the old man con- 
tinued : 

“ After all, it may be as well for me to disclose to you 
the secret of your birth, for then your father will have 
less of unpleasant things to tell. Your mother came to 
the court of Athens when she was very young, and was 
affianced to one of the noblest youths of Attica, a near 
relative of the king. Over the apartments of the palace 
which she occupied was stationed a guard, and one of 
the soldiers, a brave, handsome young fellow, attracted 
her attention and inspired her with sudden passion. 
Unfortunately he returned her love and sought oppor-,, 
tunity to make it manifest. -^Ethra fled from the palace 
with her low-born lover, and for the space of a year all 
search for her was in vain. At length, however, she 
returned to Athens, bearing an infant in her arms. Her 
lover, meanwhile, was lurking in the forest, where, by 
curious chance, he saved the life of the only child of the 
king. This event gained him pardon, and he was per- 
mitted to return to the city ; but he was not allowed to 
see .^Ethra any more. The infant was sent to Troezene, ! 
where its mother was allowed to visit it once in every I 
year. Do you wish to know more ?” i 

“ Yes. I wish to know how my father became pos- ' 
sessed of the sword and sandals which he left for me ?” 

“ They were given him by a dying warrior whom he 
nursed while hidden in the forest. Some have said | 
that the warrior was an outcast from Olympus, where 
he had offended the gods, and that the sword had won- 
derful properties, such as none have which are made 
by mortal hands. Your father feared that the sword 
and sandals might be stolen from him, so he caused 
them to be hidden where you found them.” 

“ I wish to ask you no more at present*,” said Theseus. 

“ Let me hope,” added the host, “ that this intelli- 


In the Dark / 


55 


gence will not cast you down. You are yet young, and 
there may be opportunity for you to carve out a name 
as noble as any upon earth.” 

” I will do my own planning, sir,” returned our hero, 
rather warmly ; and then, as though he repented his 
haste, he added, ” I thank you for what you have told 
me. Let me rest now, and when I have had time for 
thought we will converse again.” 

“ You can remain here as long as you wish, my son. 
In the adjoining apartment you will find a comfortable 
couch, which you can consider as your own. Out of 
the love I bear your mother 1 am inclined to be a 
friend to you.” 

” Thank you. I will remain with you to-night, at all 
events.” 

When the old man had gone Theseus sat down and 
buried his face in his hands. He remained so for some 
time, and then he started off and began to pace to and 
fro across the chamber. 

” And this is the secret of my mother’s unwillingness 
to tell me of my father,” he cried. His hands were 
clasped before him, and his head was bent. “This is 
why she sent me hither in ignorance of the prime 
source of my being. Oh, would that I had remained all 
my days at the court of my grandfather. My life is 
tainted ; a blot is upon the name I must bear ! I 
wonder not that my mother refused to accompany me 
to Athens. And yet I will not blame her. She may 
have suffered more than I shall suffer.” 

At length the youth stopped and pressed his hand 
upon his brow. He remained thus a few moments, and 
when he again raised his head there was a new light 
in his eye. 

“ Verily,” he exclaimed, “ I am moaning without 
cause. Already have I placed all Attica in my debt. 


56 


Theseus. 


Who slew the giant Procrustes ! Who swept the monster 
Periphetes from his lair of death? Surely, when the 
king knows of this, he will do me honor. And my work 
is not yet done. Orestes spoke wisely, I am young and 
I will carve out a noble name.” 

With this our hero sat down, and the soft breeze which 
came in at the open window, laden with the perfume of 
opening flower and aromatic shrub soon won him into 
a gentle slumber. When he awoke he found that the 
day had gone. A lamp was burning upon a table close 
by him, and upon a silver tray was food and drink. He 
partook sparingly of the refreshment, after which he 
sought the chamber where his couch was. 

And where were Clio and Cassander ? Clio was the 
first to awake, and having rubbed his eyes until he was 
assured that the darkness was not to be penetrated by 
mortal vision, he called aloud for his companion, 

“ Hallo ! Cassander ! In mercy’s name wake up. 
Where are you ?” 

A low grunt announced that he of Argos was close 
at hand. - — ' 

“ Cassander, — are you awake ?” 

“ Yes. Where am I ?” 

“ By the shades of Tartarus, that is just what I wish 
to find out. Where is your hand ? — ah, all right. Now 
let us hold an examination.” 

With eyes open or eyes closed it was all the same. 
The place was as dark as could have been a cell in the 
very centre of the earth ; and it felt damp and noisome, 
too. They moved carefully around, feeling the walls 
with their hands, and very soon they came together 
again. It was a small plaee, with floor of uneven rock, 
and with walls of the same, while the atmosphere gave 
clear token that i^was far under ground. Finally they 
stopped and Clio spoke ; 


In the Dark / * 57 


“ Cassander, what do you make of this ?” 

“ Our master is in a net,” replied the faithful follower, 
thinking first of Theseus. 

“ By the gods, I believe ye speak truly. As I live I 
do not think that we have come to the house of Orestes. 
That old fellow whose basket I carried was a villain.” 

” At any rate,” said Cassander, ” we are within a deep, 
strong dungeon. I felt the iron door and all my strength 
was not sufficient to jar it.” 

“ I see,” pursued Clio. “ The wine we drank placed 
us within the power of our enemies. I can taste it now. 
'Oh, this is most unfortunate.” 

“ But,” suggested the other, “ our master did not 
drink of that wine. He barely tasted it, and that was 
all. He may not have fallen as we have done.” 

“ Oh,” cried Clio, clasping his hands, “ would that I 
could find Theseus now. One word of caution might 
save him. I know that this is not the house of Orestes, 
for I know that Orestes is a kind, good man. .^Ethra 
would never have sent her son to such a place as this.” 

And so the two men talked oh. They knew that they 
had been entrapped, and cast into a dark dungeon, and 
that their weapons and their money had been taken 
from them. But what was the hoar they could not 
judge, though they supposed it must be night. 

By and by they heard a noise not far away, and pres- 
ently afterward there was a sliding sound, and a stream 
of light came in close by the floor. The prisoners cast 
their eyes in that direction and saw a pot of water and 
a loaf of bread pushed in. They spoke but received no 
answer. The aperture in the door was closed, and the 
unseen visitor went away, leaving them in darkness as 
impenetrable as before. 



CHAPTER VI. 

A FEARFUL VENTURE. 

Despite the burden which had come upon the soul 
of Theseus, his sleep was sound and refreshing, and 
when he awoke the beams of the morning sun were 
already gilding the hilltops. He arose and dressed 
himself and while he was smoothing back the curling 
locks from his brow he heard a strange noise in the 
street. It sounded like the wailing of many voices, and 
he fancied that he could distinguish sobs and moans. 
He hastened to the window of the adjoining apartment 
where he could gain a view of the street, and ere long a 
crowd of people came moving by. They were clad in 
garments of black and the leaders bore black banners. 

It was certainly a procession of mourners, and yet he I 
saw no bier. As the strange scene was passing from | 
sight a door was opened and the host entered the 
chamber. 

“ A fair morning to thee, my son,” saluted the old 
man, trying to smile as he spoke. 

“ It is a fair morning,” answered our hero ; ” and yet,” 
he added, “ I have seen signs of sadness in the street.” 

“ Ah, you saw the mourning procession, did you ?” 

“ Yes ; but I saw no bier. Is some great man dead .?” 
[58] 


A Fearful Venture. 


59 


“ How, my son, — do you not know the meaning of what 
you have seen ?” 

“ No, sir. You will remember that I am a stranger 
in Athens,” 

“ Then you know not the deep gloom which rests upon 
our city to-day. Ah, Theseus, this is a day so dark that 
all Athens feels the throb of grief. Seven youths and 
seven maidens are to be this day selected for death.” 

“ I have heard something of this,” said our hero ; “ but 
I supposed the dreadful penalty was no longer exacted. 
How is it, sir ? I am anxious to hear the story from one 
, who knows the truth.” 

“ Sit thee down, my son, and I will explain.” 
j Theseus took a seat, and the old man went on ; 

j “ Many years ago the Athenians made war upon^ 

Minos, king of Crete. They landed an army upon his^ 
shores, and laid waste and destroyed many of his vil- 
lages, and quite a number of women and children were 
killed. Minos soon gathered together a mighty army, 
gave the Athenians battle, and put them to flight ; but 
he was not content with this. He crossed the sea and 
landed upon the shores of Attica, and Athens was at 
length at his mercy. In revenge for the women and 
children that had been slaughtered in his own domain 
he planned to put all the inhabitants of the city to the 
I sword, and an order to that effect had already been 
given to his soldiers when .^geus, the king of Athens, 
went forth bareheaded and alone, to sue for mercy. 
Minos conferred with his chief men, and finally terms 
were agreed upon as follows ; The Athenians were, 
once a year, to deliver up to the king of Crete seven 
youths and seven maidens for sacrifice. The terms were 
hard, but in no other way could the city be saved, 
.^geus accepted the lesser evil, arid Minos withdrew his 
forces from Attica, And, my son, each year since, this 


Theseus. 


6o 


fearful penalty has been paid. The victims are drawiii \ 
by lot from all the youths and maidens of -Athens, anJi i 
are sent to Crete.” 

“ And there they are slain ?” said Theseus. 

“ There,” replied the old man, with a shudder, “ they^ : 
are led within the mazes of a labyrinth from which no j 
mortal can escape unassisted. This labyrinth was 
constructed by Daedalus, and is considered one of the 
most wonderful works of the age, as even the lions 
which roam through its intricate and artfully contrived 
passages have never yet been known to make their way 
out.” 

“ Lions ?” said Theseus, shuddering in turn. 

“ Yes,” replied the host. “ Twelve lions are shut up 
within that labyrinth, which feed upon the human 
victims that are cast in to them. It is terrible.” 

“ And do the Athenians tamely submit ?” asked The- 
seus, with a flushed brow. 

“There is no help. Minos is the most powerful 
king, and any failure on our part to pay the yearly trib- 
ute of these fourteen lives would entail sure destruc- 
tion upon our city.” 

“ Is there no escape at all ? Does Minos offer no 
opportunity ?” 

“ He makes a show of such an offer ; but it amounts 
to nothing. He has announced that when the Athenian 
youths can overcome his lions, not only shall they 
be free, but no more victims shall be demanded.” 

And is not that an opportunity ?” 

“How can it be, my son ?-^ Remember, there are 
twelve lions, all from beyond the Egyptian confines, 
either one of which could with ease slay a hundred 
stout men. And remember further, that the youths are 
led into the labyrinth unarmed. Now, not only must 
the lions be overcome by unarmed men, but the victors, 


A Fearful Venture. 


6i 


if such they prove, must find their way out from that 
combination of interminable windings. Ah, it is adding 
cruelty to cruelty to publish such an offer. Ten thous- 
and men would starve within that mystic labyrinth 
before one of their number could thread the way that 
leads to the outer world.” 

“ Still,” said Theseus, thoughtfully, “ you think Minos 
would keep his promise ?” 

“ Certainly he would.” 

“ When are these victims to be chosen ?” 

“ They are making the choice now.” 

“ Where ?” 

“ At the Temple of Minerva, in the Acropolis.” 

“ Now, by the crown of immortal Jove,” cried our 
hero, starting to his feet, and smiting his hands to- 
gether, ” I will be one of the number !” 

“ How !” exclaimed the old man, also starting up. 
“ Do you mean that you will give yourself a victim for 
Crete T' 

“Yes. I will go; and I go with the hope that I 
may be able to overcome the monsters that are thus fed 
with the best blood of Athens. If I succeed I will 
have an honorable name in Attica, and no fault of my 
parents can rest upon me. If I fail I shall only pay 
the debt which must be paid by all of mortal mould 
sooner or later.” 

A strange light beamed in the eyes of the old man, 

“ Noblest of youths,” he cried, “ your decision is 
worthy of a god. If I advised you from the love I have 
conceived for you, I should urge you to leave the ven- 
ture untried ; but higher motives actuate me. If jmu 
go and succeed in bringing Minos to a relinquishment 
of his fatal claim upon us, your name shall stand above 
all other names in Attica. And, as I think of what you 


62 


Theseus, 


havfe already done, the work does not appear impossible 
of accomplishment.” 

“ I must go." 

“ Then we should be on our way, my son.” 

“ I most first see my companions. Where are they ?” 

“ Do you mean the two men who came with you ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ I think they have gone off to look about the city. 
Perhaps they have followed the crowd to the Acropolis. 
But you can see them afterward.” 

“ You are sure they are not in the house ?” ^ 

“ They are not. I saw them go out as the procession 
was moving by.” 

“ Then let me have some breakfast, and after I have 
eaten I will accompany you.” . 

The host hurried away, and in a very short time the 
meal was served. Theseus ate, and then announced 
his readiness to depart. 

In the Temple of Minerva, at early dawn, were as- 
sembled many people ; and when the rays of the sun 
rested upon the lower city, all the youths and maidens 
of Athens were within the sacred edifice. There were 
pale faces and trembling lips, and many were the pray- 
ers that went up to the gods from those unhappy mor- 
tals. The selection was to be made — fourteen of the 
fairest of Attica's children were to be given up to dread- 
ful sacrifice. And yet there was no thought of resisting 
the impending doom. All knew that .^geus, the king, 
could not prevent it if he would. This was the price to 
be paid for the life of the city ; and though the fate 
of the victims was a terrible one, yet they had the con- 
solation of knowing that their names would be held in 
sacred remembrance by their country. 

At the appointed time three priests appeared at the 
altar, clothed in black robes, and before them was 


A Fearful Venture. 


63 


placed a box in which were two hundred small blocks 
of wood. One hundred and ninety-three of these were 
white, and seven of them were black. The maidens 
drew first. All was still within the temple as the fair 
virgins of Athens went forward, one after another, to 
decide their fate. They could not look into the box. 
They could only reach in with their right hand, and as 
the blocks were all of the same size and texture, no in- 
stinct could guide them in their selection. 

There was silence in the temple no longer. Seven 
black blocks had been drawn, and seven maidens were 
doomed to death in the far-off island of Crete. There 
was weeping and wailing. Daughters were folded for 
the last time in the embrace of stricken parents, and 
lovers and brothers were smitten with fearful agony. 

But the work was not yet done. The blocks were re- 
turned to the box, and now the young men were to 
draw. Six black cubes had consigned six youths to 
death, and then a score of white ones followed. Who 
should draw the seventh ? Leaning against one of the 
marble pillars stood Philip, the son of lo. He was one of 
the fairest youths of Athens, and the future had looked 
bright before him. His father had been dead many 
years, and he had been the sole support of his mother 
since his hands were strong enough to bend a bow or 
lift a javelin. lo was upon his left side, breathing pray- 
ers to the gods. Upon his right stood Camilla, his be- 
trothed, a maiden so beautiful that even Venus might 
have envied her ; and she, too, prayed that Philip 
might be spared. 

At length Philip left his mother and his betrothed, 
and advanced to the altar. He placed his hand in 
the box, and when he withdrew it he held between his 
thumb and finger the seventh black cube ! Slowly he 
returned to the place where he had left lo and Camilla, 


64 


Theseus. 


and when they saw the fatal block their hearts were 
stricken as though with the icy touch of death. The 
mother was speechless in her agony ; but not so the 
maiden. She threw her arms about her lover’s neck, 
and bade him take courage. 

“You shall not go alone, dear Philip,” she said. “ I 
must bear thee company.” 

“ You, Camilla ?” 

“Yes. Antiope, the daughter of Lycus, has drawn a 
dooming block, and I will take it from her.” 

“ No, no, dearest Camilla ; that must not be. When 
I am gone who shall comfort my poor mother if thou art 
not here. Oh, sweet one, it is cruel, but we must 
submit.” 

“ Philip, do not refuse me the boon I ask. I wish not 
to live after thou art gone. Oh, let me go with thee ; 
and since we cannot live and love, let us together pass 
into the world of shadows.” 

Before Philip could reply he felt a heavy hand upon 
his shoulder, and when he looked up he beheld a youth 
of noble bearing standing by his side. For an instant 
he forgot his cause of grief in admiration of the stran- 
ger’s form and face. 

“ My brother,” spoke the new-comer, in a voice of 
strange depth and sweetness, “thou hast drawn a 
prize,” 

“ A prize of death,” answered Philip, sadly. 

“ To you it might so prove ; but in my hands it may 
prove a prize of life. Give me the black cube,” 

“How,” cried the son of lo, in amazement. “Are 
you serious, or have you come to trifle wdth me ?” 

“ The gods forbid that I should trifle on such an 
occasion as this. I wish to go to Crete as one of 
the seven. I w^as too late to offer myself before 
the chances were drawn ; so I am now forced to beg the 


.V 


A Fearful Venture. 6^5 


chance of some other person. Again, in all seriousness, 
I ask for yours." 

Philip still seemed unable to believe what he heard. 

“You must be a stranger in Athens, fair sir." 

“ Yet Athens may claim me for her son." 

“ But do you know what is to be the fate of those who 
bear these black prizes ?" 

“ I know what has been the fate of those who have 
drawn them heretofore ; and in that full knowledge I 
ask you for your chance. If you refuse me I shall ap- 
peal to this fair maiden, who, I think, has some interest 
in the matter. If she fails me, I will turn to this lady 
who weeps as though she were losing her son. If that 
avails me not, then I must look elsewhere. Now, what 
say you ?" 

Philip grasped the hand of his unknown friend, and 
gazed earnestly into his face. 

“ Noble sir,” he said, “ if you seek to offer yourself 
for me, I cannot accept ; for you may leave a mother 
who would mourn for you. But if you seek this chance 
independent of all considerations in my behalf — if you 
seek it because you had so planned before you saw me 
in my grief — then I will yield.” 

“ I swear to thee before the altar of our goddess, that 
I am bound to go to Crete as one of the fated seven. If 
I take not your chance, then I must find another.” 

Philip objected no more. He gave up the black cube, 
after which both the mother and the maiden fell upon 
the stranger’s neck and blessed him. 

“ Now,” said the released youth, “ you will tell me 
your name ; for, though you have done this thing for 
yourself, yet I shall ever regard you as my saving 
genius.” 

“ My name I will not tell you now. If we ever meet 
again you will know me. Go with your mother and with 


66 


The setts. 


this fair damsel, and be happy.” And with these words 
he turned and hastened away. 

“ Alas !” murmured Philip, “ I never shall see him 
again. He goes to the doom from which there is no 
escape. But I could not help it.” He would have 
spoken further, but lo and Camilla were upon his 
bosom, and they soon engaged all his thoughts. 

In the meantime he who had taken Philip’s fatal 
prize sought the altar, where he presented himself 
before the priests. They looked upon him, and asked 
what he wanted. 

“ Philip, the son of lo, drew a black cube,” he said. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Here it is. I go in Philip’s place.” 

“ How r 

“ You need not wonder at my choice. I go to Crete 
in place of Philip.” 

As soon as the priests could overcome their astonish- 
ment sufficiently to enable them to speak, they asked 
the youth his name ; but he chose not to reveal it. 

“ It matters not,” he said. “ King Minos cares not for 
names. Let the record stand as it is ; or, if you wish to 
account for Philip’s presence in Athens, you can set it 
down that a stranger took the seventh chance.” 

While the priests were making a note of this wonder- 
ful event in the record of the day’s events, the youth 
turned from the altar, and was soon joined by an old 
man. 

“ How is it, my dear Theseus, have you — ” 

“ Hush, good Orestes. Speak not that name so loudly. 
I am one of the seven ; and of course, when I leave this 
temple, it must be for the ship that is to bear us over 
the sea.” 

“ Yes, my son,— such is the rule.” 

“ Have you seen Clio or Cassander yet 


A Fearful Venture. 


67 


“ No. They are not in the temple, and I cannot 
imagine what has become of them.” 

“ I should like to see Clio. I would send some word 
to my mother.” 

“ If you do not see him, my son, I will give him any 
instruction you may desire.” 

“ Tell him,” said our hero, after a little thought, “just 
what I have done. He will understand the rest. Fur- 
thermore, you will tell him to take the iron club of Peri- 
phetes back with him to Troezene and give it to my 
grandfather.” 

The old man promised ; and before Theseus had 
opportunity for further speech, the officers of the king 
came for those who had drawn the fatal blocks. 

Later in the day a ship at one of the landing-places 
of the Piraeus, spread her sails to the breeze, and pre- 
pared to clear herself from the shore. The sails were 
black ; the masts were black ; and all about her was 
black, even to the garments of the crew. She was to 
bear to Crete the fourteen victims for the lions of 
Minos. Theseus was the last to step on board, as he 
had taken the last block drawn. He had not seen 
Clio ; but he hoped that his host would keep his prom- 
ise. Philip, the son of lo, and Camilla, the maiden 
were there ; and they pressed forward and kissed the 
hands of the heroic youth. 

“ You will know me if you see me again,” said the 
saving genius ; and in a moment more he had passed 
on board the ship. 

Philip stood with Camilla leaning upon his arm, and 
watched the vessel as she departed ; and when he 
could see the black sails no longer he turned to his 
companion and sadly said : 

“ Alas ! we shall never see him more ! But we will 
not forget him, sweet love. We will offer up our pray- 


68 


Theseus. 


\ 


ers daily in his behalf ; and in the years to come, if we 
are so blessed, we will teach our children to honor his 
sacred memory.” 


CHAPTER VII. 

ARIADNE. 

Minos, King of Crete, was one of the most powerful 
monarchs of his time. His island,* one of the largest 
in the Mediterranean, was diversified with hills and 
mountains and valleys and beautiful plains, offering 
inducements alike to the husbandman, the hunter, and 
the man of wealth ; so that, in time, Minos found him- 
self at the head of a populous and thrifty realm. King 
Minos was an old man ; but he had lost little of his 
manhood’s vigor. He could draw a bow or wield a 
javelin with the best of his warriors, and the affairs of 
State were administered without the assistance of min- 
ister or council. He was a stern, uncompromising 
man, for whom no deed was too cruel if he, in the 
hardness of his heart, deemed it just. 

Minos’ youngest and fairest child was the beautiful 
Ariadne. She was but eighteen years of age, and each 
of the heavenly deities seemed to have bestowed upon 
her some mark of favor. Her hair, of a golden brown, 
floated in wavy, rippling tresses over her shoulders, 
reflecting back a glorious sheen to the sunlight ; her 
face was the abode of every perfected charm ; and her 
form fit to grace the Vestal throne. There had been 
many suitors for Ariadne’s hand, but she had rejected 
them all — not because her heart was cold, but because 
she had not yet met the man whom she could wholly and 

* f^ow called Candia, 


A riadne. 


69. 


devotedly love ; and, furthermore, her father had not 
yet urged her to marry. But a change was coming. 
Serapis, the powerful King of Egypt, had heard of the 
matchless beauty of the daughter of the King of Crete, 
and with many ships in his train he came to claim her 
hand. He saw the maiden, and he was deeply enamored ; 
and straightway he demanded her in marriage. 

Minos was overjoyed by the proposition, and at the 
earliest opportunity he presented the Egyptian monarch 
to his daughter. Ariadne beheld an old man — almost 
as old as her father — low-browed and dark, with marks 
of passion and excess deeply graven upon his swart face. 
She treated him politely, as she was forced to treat 
i every guest of her father ; but as soon as possible she 
: made her escape from the disagreeable presence. 

' That evening her father came to her chamber. 

“ My daughter,” he said, “ Serapis has demanded of 
me your hand in marriage.” 

Ariadne turned pale as death. 

“ Oh my father, I can never be the vufe of that man.” 

“ You know not what you say, my child. Serapis is 
i one of the most powerful of living monarchs, and here 
! is offered an opportunity for me to secure his firm alli- 
ance. He must not go back without you.” 

The maiden sank upon her knees, and clasped her 
i hands. 

j “ In mercy’s name, my father, spare me. I should be 
I miserable with that man. Oh, do not force me to this. 
I cannot love him.” 

“ What need has a queen to love ?” 

“ But I may not be his queen. I know that the 
Egyptian king has wives already.” 

“ He has no queen, my child. You are of a royal 
I family, and he will elevate you to his throne,” 

“ And yet, father, you will spare me.” 


70 


Theseus. 


“ I shall give you in marriage to Serapis.” 

“ No, no, — Oh, no. Take back those words. I would 
rather be cast into the fearful labyrinth of Mount Ida, i 
there to be devoured by the famishing lions, than go j 
away from Crete the wife of that man. You will not, 
my father, — Oh, you cannot do it. Upon my knees I | 
entreat you.” 

“ You entreat as a child,” answered the king, sternly, ! 
“ Now listen as the Princess of Crete. Serapis asks 'l 
your hand in marriage, and I have promised it ; for not ‘ 
in all the world is there a more advantageous opportu- 
nity. The alliance will strengthen me, and henceforth 
there shall be no power able to cope with me. You ! ' 
have heard. Prepare to obey.” 

Minos had turned to leave the apartment, when Ari- 
adne sprang to her feet. t 

“ My father, when must this marriage take place 1 
“ When it pleases Serapis.” t 

“ How long will he remain here ?” t 

“ Until after the Athenian victims arrive.” ^ 

“ Alas ! and are more of those poor Athenians to be > 
sacrificed in the horrible labyrinth ?” 

” Verily, my child, I believe you are losing your J 
senses. Do you feel pity for the fate of the Athe- t 
nians ?” f 

“ How can I help it ! Oh, did I not see those whom 
last year you consigned to the famishing lions ? Among i 
the fair those maidens were the fairest, and among the I 
noble those youths were the noblest. And I saw how 3 
grandly they met their fate. When will this sacrifice I 
come to an end ?” i 

“ When my lions are overcome,” replied Minos. \ 

“ Oh, that is cruel,” cried the princess, who, when her » 
sympathies were aroused, was apt to speak plainly, t 
” You know that no mortal hand can overcome those 


A riadne. 


71 


terrible beasts, especially since those victims are 
deprived of all arms. As well might they contend 
against the bolts of Jupiter. And, furthermore, how 
fare they to get out from the labyrinth, even should they 
escape the lions ?” 

Minos laughed — a cold, cruel laugh. 

“ Ah, my daughter, it is likely to be some years 
ily.'lf'et ere Athens will cease to feel the weight of my 
iljslpower. Oh, it is a glorious thing to feel that the name of 
Minos is heard with fear and trembling by the people of 
Athens.” 

) “And is it glorious to know that a whole nation 
curses you, my father ?” 

- The king turned upon his child a look of rage, 
i “ How now, ungrateful girl ! Would you question 
jthe right and justice of my doings ? — by the gods. 
I’ll bid Serapis to teach you manners. In a week, at 
;the farthest, the Athenian ship will arrive ; and we’ll 
close the ceremonies of the occasion with your nuptials.” 

■ The king stopped a moment, and then added, with 
threatening gesture : 

“From this time until you are the wife of Serapis 
you are responsible to me ; and let me see that you 
treat our royal guest becomingly. If you do not I may 
forget that you are my child.” 

With this Minos left the chamber, and the fair 
Ariadne threw herself upon her couch and groaned in 
bitterness of spirit. She did not experience that deep 
anguish which one might have experienced who was to 
be torn from some idolized object, for as yet her heart 
was her own ; but she felt a sense of deep disgust and 
loathing for the King of Egypt ; and she had told the 
truth when she said that she would rather be cast into 
the den at Mount Ida than to be given over to that 


72 


Theseus. 


:[o 


man. She was still upon her couch when a small side m 
door was opened, and a young girl entered. 

The new-comer was a black-eyed, pretty girl, whose 
simple garb of white cloth betokened her station of ' 
servitude. Her raven hair was gathered by a band of ' 
transparent beads behind her head, and her dress was 
fastened close about her throat by a small gold button. 

“ My dear mistress, what ails you ?” jii 

“ Is this you, Thalia ?” W 

“ Certainly it is. Here — let me hold your head. 
What is it, lady ?” js 

Ariadne sat up, and as she gazed into the face of her t 
faithful, devoted servant, light began to break in upon f 
the shadows that had rested upon her brow. 

‘‘ Dear Thalia, I am in trouble." 

“ You in trouble, sweet lady ? I see not how that 
can be, unless your stern father has been upbraiding*^! 


you. 

“ That is not it,” said the princess, shaking her head. 

“ Then what can it be ?” 

“ Have you seen Serapis, the King of Egypt ?” 

“ Yes,” answered Thalia, shuddering. 

“ How should you like him for a husband ?” 

” Oh — don’t !” cried the girl, starting as though she 
had heard the hiss of a serpent. 

“ Then you think you wouldn’t like him for a hus- 
band ?” 

“ Mercy ! I’d rather marry a satyr. But why do 
you ask me such questions ?” 

“ Because my father has promised my hand to that 
man.” 

Thalia stood for some moments aghast. At length 
she said : 

“ But you will not be his wife. Oh, what an ugly 




A riadne. 


73 


ea4< 


ms- 


I should be afraid of him. 


)oking monster he is. 
ou will not marry him.’' 

“ How can I help it, Thalia ?” 

“ Will your father force you to it ?” 

‘‘Yes. His mind is made up, and nothing will 
irn him.” 

“ Then,” said the girl, thoughtfully, “ we must con- 
ive some way to outwit them. Oh, you must not go 
way into that dreadful country. You don’t know what 
terrible place it is. I have talked with one of the ser- 
ants of King Serapis, and he told me that the rivers 
i that country swarmed with monsters that feed upon 
ipoB omen and children. The sun shines down so hot 
jere that people are sometimes burned up, and the 
ary wind, which is here so cool and refreshing, is there 
tbat ke the breath of Tartarus.” 

“ These things are dreadful,” said the princess ; “ but 
ley cannot add to the terror I feel in anticipation of 
ecoming that old man’s wife,” 

“ But when does your father say you must be mar- 
ed ?” 

“ After the Athenian ship has arrived. It may be a 
-eek — perhaps more.” 

“ Then let us hope, dear lady. Kings are not always 
le wisest of men, and it is not impossible that two 
oung girls may overcome the plans of two old kings, 
.t any rate, my mistress, we will try. Only you must 
e careful how you conduct yourself before your father, 
hould you give him reason to suspect that we were 
lotting against him, or sliould you offend him further 
y ill-toned allusion to Serapis, he might prove too 
owerful for us.” 

“ Fear not,” returned Ariadne. “ I think I know 
ow to conduct myself. We will watch narrowly, and 
the worst seems likely to come we will flee from my 


Theseus. 


74 


father’s court. We can hide in the forest until search 
is over, and then make our way from Crete.” 

“ You would not object, then, to leave your father ?” ^ 
“ Ah, Thalia,” replied the princess, with a sigh, 

“ since the death of my sweet mother I have not known 
a parent’s love. King Minos is my father, but he has ^ 
never given me a father’s love ; and he did not love * 
my mother as he ought to have done. If he had been 
more kind to her she would not have died as she did. ^ 
Yes — I would leave my father’s court without regret ; ^ 
and when I come to think of marrying with Serapis, I ® 
am free to declare that I would rather wander in the ^ 
forest all the rest of my days.” ^ 

“ Then I will help you all I can, dear lady.” ’ 

The princess felt better after this, for she fancied ' 
that she might escape the doom which her father had * 
planned for her. ' 

Several times during the ensuing week was Ariadne 
brought into the Egyptian King’s presence ; and she 
not only contrived to hide her feelings of disgust, but 
she managed to treat him quite well ; the result ot 
which was that Serapis fell more deeply in love than 
ever. He begged of Minos that the nuptials might be 
celebrated at once. He was anxious to possess the 
matchless prize of beauty. He feared that some evil 
influence might snatch her away from him if he 
delayed. 

But Minos told him that he had promised his child 
that she should remain free until after the feast of the 
lions, and he could not break his word. 

” Not,” added the King of Crete, “ because Ariadne 
fears to become your wife, but because she loves hei 
father and shrinks from the thought of leaving him 
Wait, my brother, and be assured that the prize will be 
none the less valuable when it is yours.” i 


A riadne. 


75 


That evening- Serapis not only gazed upon the match- 
less loveliness of Ariadne, but he took her small white 
hand in his and kissed it. The princess came very near 
shrieking when the parched lips touched her ; but she 
managed to control herself until she reached her own 
chamber, where she washed the polluted hand in many 
sweet-scented waters. 

One morning there was commotion in the capital of 
Crete. The first rays of the rising son were caught by 
the black sails of a ship that was entering the harbor, 
and the people knew that the victims had arrived from 
Athens. There were no such demonstrations as would 
have been manifest upon a more cheerful occasion ; 
nor were there so many shud derings and regrets as 
might have been expected from a sympathizing and 
enlightened people. The inhabitants of Crete knew 
that this annual tribute of life was done from Athens 
by treaty, and they remembered that .^geus, the 
Athenian King, had made war upon them and slain 
many of their women and children. There were some 
in Crete who would have been pleased to see the meas- 
ure of the tribute doubled ; while there were others 
who were fully satisfied with the atonement of blood 
already made. The people of Crete had not the privi- 
lege of beholding the sufferings of these victims, for 
none, save the few keepers, who knew all the windings 
of the labyrinth, and who had hiding-places of their 
own within its fatal depths, could enter with safety. 

The Athenian ship was anchored at .some distance 
from the shore, and Minos sent off barges of his own to 
bring the victims to the land. 

Up from the landing-place they marched — those seven 
youths and seven maidens— -dressed in black, and 
guarded by Cretan soldiers. Their way was toward the 
Royal Palace where Minos awaited their coming, and as 


76 


Theseus. 


they moved slowly onward they were gazed upon by 
the thousands who thronged the thoroughfare. 

But why is it that the people gaze now as they have 
never gazed before ? What are those whispers that 
run so eagerly from mouth to mouth ? 

“ Who is he ? Who is he ?” 

Such is the burden of the whispered speech. 

Aye, — who is that right royal-looking youth that leads 
the van of the victims ? Never before did Athenian 
tread so proudly and defiantly the soil of Crete. Never 
before did Athens send so noble a man to be food for 
the lions of Minos. 

“ O my life !” exclaimed a Cretan maiden, who stood 
by the street-corner, “ they must not consign such a 
youth to the labyrinth ! It is wicked !” 

“ He will not die," said another maiden, who was 
among the most beautiful of the daughters of Crete. 
“ Some pitying goddess will descend from the celestial 
abode and snatch him from the bloody lions. Mercy, 
if Juno espies this beautiful youth, Jupiter will need to 
look well to the wanderings of the heavenly queen !" 
She spoke enthusiastically, and evidently meant what 
she said. . ' 

By and by the sombre procession reached the court 
of the palace, where Minos was in waiting to review 
them. With him were the King of Egypt, and some of 
his principal officers, and also Ariadne and her attend- 
ants. 

“ By the gods !’’ exclaimed Serapis, “ it seems a pity 
to give that noble youth up to destruction. I’ll give thee 
an hundred talents of silver if thou’lt give me his life 
and bind him to me as a soldier !’’ 

Minos shook his head. It could not be done. 

Ariadne, who had been gazing with pity and compas- 
sion upon the fair maidens who were doomed to the 


Ariadne. 


77 


dreadful death, heard the words of Serapis, and straight- 
way her gaze rested upon the youth of whom mention 
had been made ; and, as chance would have it, the youth 
was at the self-same moment gazing upon her. 

What were those strange thrills that went vibrating 
through the frame of the Cretan princess? Never, in 
all her life had she beheld a youth like that. She had 
fancied some such form and face for the more favored 
of the gods ; but she had never expected to see such 
charms in one of human mould. She saw those dark 
eyes burn like the evening lamps of Hesperus ; she 
saw the rich color come to the full cheeks like the glow 
of the sunset sky ; she saw the broad bosom swell, as 
with powerful emotion ; and she saw the lips part as 
though they would utter speech. She drank in the 
rapturous influence of the scene until she was almost 
intoxicated. The beauty of the Athenian youth, and 
the grandeur of his bearing, were more than inspiring. 

After she had gazed until she dared gaze no more, 
Ariadne turned to Thalia, who stood behind her, and 
caught her by the hand. 

“ Let us go,” she said, 

“ Hush ! Wait a moment, lady. I see it all. Your 
father is going presently. Smile if you can — the people 
are gazing upon you.” 

Once more Ariadne ventured to turn her head, and 
once more she met the light of those dark, lustrous 
eyes. She dared not look again. 

When Minos had viewed the human tribute, and 
had seen that the number was full, and the ages of 
the victims right— neither too old nor too young — he 
directed that they should be conducted to the dungeons 
beneath his palace until the morrow, when they would 
be given up to the fate that awaited them in the laby- 
rinth'at Mount Ida. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

CUPID IN A DUNGEON. 

For some time after Ariadne reached her chamber 
she sat like one in a dream. Thalia was present, but 
she did not disturb her mistress. The princess at 
length spoke : 

“ Thalia, did you notice him ?” She did not raise her 
head, but she put the question in a meditative way. 

“ Did I notice whom, my lady ?” 

Ariadne looked up as though surprised at her attend- 
ant’s reply. 

“ There was but one to notice. Did you notice 
him ?” 

“Ah, you mean the Athenian youth.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ How could I help noticing him ? I never before 
saw such beauty and such grace. Apollo himself can- 
not be more comely. And what majesty in his bearing ! 
Did you mark how proud and noble he looked ? Did 
you mark the calm composure with which he heard the 
words of the king when the hour was set for the sacri- 
fice ? Did you see the wondrous light of his large, dark 
eyes ? ' 

The princess pressed her hand upon her breast and 
sighed. 


[78] 


Cupid m a Dungeon. 


79 


“0 Thalia, do you think that he left his heart with 
some maiden in his native land ?” 

The girl started, for her mistress had clearly revealed 
her secret. Some servants might have made strange of 
such a question, and draw the princess into a fuller 
confession ; but not so Thalia. She knew the warm, 
generous nature of her lady, and she was ready to meet 
confidence with confidence. She arose from her seat, 
and stood by Ariadne’s side. 

“ My sweet mistress, it is a very easy thing to be mis- 
taken. I have been mistaken many times in my life ; 
but yet I will not refuse to follow my own instincts 
when they are supported by reason. I do not think 
that the Athenian youth loves any one in his native 
land." 

“ Why do you think so, Thalia ?’' 

“ Because, if his heart had been in Athens he could 
not have gazed upon you as he did. I marked him well 
and I know that his whole heart was in the look he 
gave you.” 

Again Ariadne pressed her hand upon her bosom, and 
sighed. Her frame shook, and for a moment there was 
a pallor upon her face. Presently, however, she recov- 
ered herself, and took her attendant by the hand. 

“ Thalia, I have trusted you always, and I fear not to 
trust )"ou now. I must see that youth.” 

“ But why, my lady ?” 

“ Never mind. I must see him.” 

“ Ah,” said Thalia, shaking her head, you love the 
noble Athenian.” 

“ I have no wish to deny it,” replied Ariadne. “ I do 
love him,” she added, looking up. “ I love him with a 
depth of passion such as I never before even dreamed 
of. , I must see him.” 

“ But why should you see him '* If it be as I suspect 


8o * 


Theseus, 


— if he returns your ardent love — the meeting can only 
made you more unhappy. The youth must die on the 
morrow, and no mortal power can save him.” 

“ Thalia,” cried the princess, with clasped hands, 
'‘often during my life have I felt the inspiration of 
more than mortal perception upon me ; and I feel it, 
now. You will say that my great love has misled me, 
but I do not believe it. Something tells me that the 
youth can be saved. . I see the star of my fate set above 
his noble brow. If I see him this night the terrible 
doom may be averted.” 

“ And how can you see him ?” 

If you will help me, I think it can be done.” 

“ I will help you, even with my life, dear lady. You 
have but to state your wishes.” 

“ You are acquainted with the officers of the guard ?” 

“ Yes.” 

” And you know where the guard take their sup- 
per ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Would it be a very difficult matter for you to gain 
access to that apartment before the hour for the even- 
ing meal ?” 

“No. I can do that very easily.” 

“ And would you find much trouble in mixing a 
sleeping powder with the food those soldiers are to 
eat ?” 

The girl rested her head upon her hand and reflected 
a few moments. 

*‘No,”she at length answered. “I can do it with 
little trouble. Only it must be such a powder as will 
not be easily detected.” 

I will look to that. I think the guard is not changed 
until midnight.” < 

“It is not changed before that time; and I don’t 


8i 


Cupid in a Dungeon. 


know as it is changed at all. I know the officers are 
not changed.” 

“ The officers and men eat together, do they not ?” 

“ Yes, lady — when they eat in the palace.” 

“ Then you may be sharpening your wits, good Thalia, 
for I have the powder at hand. Already the gods seem 
to favor me. 1 obtained this powerful sleeping-potion 
that I might be armed against the king of Egypt ; and 
now it will serve me a better purpose.” 

The day was already drawing toward its close, and 
as the last rays of the setting sun faded from the palace 
walls Ariadne gave the powder to Thalia, and sent her 
upon her delicate mission, at the same time begging of 
her to be very careful. 

“ For,” she said, ” I must not fail to see him this night. 
O Thalia, if you have guessed the truth — if his heart is 
mine — there shall be found some means to save him from 
the terrible doom that has been pronounced against 
him.” 

Thalia went away, and the princess was left alone. Ah, 
she had fallen deeply, passionately in love. In all her 
life before she had never seen a man who came up to the 
standard she had fixed in her mind ; so her heart had 
been gathering its forces of love, and the fires of warm 
passion had not fanned to a flame until now. But the 
hour had come. The god of Love had fixed an arrow 
in her heart- at last, and the passidn burst forth with 
mighty power. She promised herself that the Athenian 
youth was true and honorable, and that his life would 
be equal in its fruits to the beauty of his countenance. 
She had only one fear, and that was that his heart might 
already be another’s. This thought only added to the 
intensity of herpas.sion ; and upon her knees she prayed 
to the gods that the heart of the noble Athenian might 
be given wholly to her. 


82 


Theseus. 


That evening her father did not visit her, so she had ■ 
plenty of time for reflection, besides being relieved from • 
the difficult task of hiding her real feelings before him. 
An hour after dark Thalia returned, coming in cautiously, 
and gazing carefully around before she spoke. She 
trembled some, and there was a fluttering about her , 
lips, as though the excitement of the business in which 
she had been engaged had not wholly left her. 

“ Dear Thalia, we are alone. What have you done ?” 

The girl sat down and breathed a few moments, and 
then replied : 

“ I have done more than you thought to advise. I 
have given the guard their sleeping-potion, and I have 
also discovered the situation of the cell in which the 
youth is confined.” 

“Ah — I forgot — that. Thank you, Thalia. You are 
a good friend. You are sure the soldiers will take the 
food you prepared ?” 

“ I saw them eat it, my lady, so there can be no mis- 
take there. If they do not fall asleep before the proper 
time — ” 

“ There is no fear of that. I know how the powder 
works. If the guard have taken it they will be sound 
asleep by ten o’clock.” 

The hours dragged heavily on, and when the evening 
star had set Ariadne prepared for the expedition she 
had undertaken. When she was sure that all in the 
palace was quiet, she took a small lantern, which she 
could darken at pleasure, and set forth. There were 
many passages to be threaded, and a wide court to 
cross, before they entered that part of the palace 
beneath which the dungeons lay ; but they reached it 
at length, and in safety. They entered a spacious 
apartment, where a lamp was burning, and where they 
found an officer of the guard asleep. Thalia trembled. 


Ctipid in a Dungeon. 83 


and so did the princess ; but the former trembled with 
fear, while the latter was moved only by her eagerness. 

“ Take that lamp.” said Ariadne ; “ we may want it ; 
and, besides, the officer will sleep better in the dark.” 

The girl did as she had been directed, and after this 
they went on. Ariadne had often wandered through 
this part of the palace, and she knew the location of 
the dungeons very well. There were no doors locked, 
for guards had been posted at all the principal outlets, 
and these fellows were sound asleep — some sitting and 
some lying, but all completely oblivious. At length 
the adventurers reached the lowest depths of the under- 
ground structure, where Thalia soon pointed out the 
cell in which the Athenian was confined. A soldier 
was asleep close at hand, with his sword and spear 
upon the pavement by his side. The door of the cell 
was heavily barred upon the outside, but not locked 
with a key, so the girls had not much difficulty in 
removing the obstructions. 

Theseus was not asleep. He had slept a few hours 
early in the evening ; but a strange dream had awak- 
ened him, and he now sat upon the edge of his low pal- 
let, meditating upon the events by which he had been 
brought into his present position. His hope of success, 
since his landing in Crete, had not been quite so strong 
as before. Not only had his sword been taken from 
him, but he had discovered that the labyrinth was 
a far more wonderful place than he had fancied. When 
he had laid his head upon the hard pillow that night he 
had many misgivings ; but he prayed earnestly to 
the gods to assist him, and while he slept there came to 
him in a dream a fair presence, bidding him take cour- 
age. 

“Son of ^thra,” the spirit said, “if thy heart is 
true, and thine arm strong, take courage.” 


84 


Theseus. 


When he would have put forth his hand to detain the 
presence he awoke, and found himself in utter dark- 
ness ; but presently the door of his cell was opened 
and a bright light flashed in upon him. 

Was he awake, or did he still dream ? He rubbed his 
eyes, and gazed again. Certainly he had seen that 
beautiful being before. He had seen her near the 
king, and her image had not since left him. 

Ariadne was the intruder, and she felt that it was her 
duty to speak. She gazed into the face of the man who 
had arisen to meet her, and she fancied that he looked 
more noble than before. 

“ Fair sir,” she said, “ be not alarmed by my presence.” 
She would have spoken further, but her voice failed 
her. 

“ By the girdle of Venus '” cried the youth, gazing 
rapturously upon the lovely vision, “ thou comest not 
armed with that which alarms, unless, indeed, Cupid 
hath lent thee his darts, and thou canst shoot them 
with deadly effect.” 

The tones of the speaker so soft and so musical, 
inspired the maiden with new strength of purpose. 

“ I am no goddess, that could borrow darts of the 
mischievous son of Venus,” she said, with a sMale. “ I 
am Ariadne, the daughter of King Minos.” 

“ Then thou art the maiden whose beauty is so re- 
nowned,” spoke Theseus. “Ah, the whole truth has not 
been told.” 

His eyes beamed with a warmer light, and a richer 
glow suffused his face. 

The royal maiden was not unmindful of that look. 
It gave her courage to hope that her love was not lost. 

“ You know my name, fair sir, while I know not 
yours.” 

“ Pardon, lady. My name is Theseus, and I am the 


85 


Cupid in a Dungeon. 


son of ^thra, the daughter of Pittheus, king of Troe- 
zene. My father I never saw.” 

“ Then thou art of a kingly race upqn thy mother’s 
side ?” said Ariadne, with a new strength of hope. 

“ Yes._ I was reared and educated at the court of my 
royal grandfather.” 

“ And do they draw upon such for the tribute which 
Athens pays to Crete ?” 

“ Nay, lady ; my presence here came not by chance. 
I freely gave myself to the fated number, hoping that 
I might overcome the terrible beasts of the labyrinth, 
and thus free my people from the sad burden they have 
borne so long.” 

“ But did you not think you might fail ?” 

*'■ Yes, — I thought of it.” 

“ And thus all would be lost.” 

“ Nay, sweet lady. My name would be remembered 
kindly in Athens — remembered by a noble boy, a wid- 
owed mother, and a dark-eyed maiden.” 

“ A maiden !” gasped Ariadne, catching her breath. 

“ Yes, — a maiden who may live to be the loving wife 
of the youth whose place I took.” 

The princess breathed again, and the quick light that 
broke over her face, dispelling the momentary cloud, 
was noticed by Theseus. 

“Ah, most beautiful of women,” he said, almost 
mournfully, “ there is no maiden who will weep for me 
when I am gone.” 

“ None !” echoed Ariadne, holding her breath. 

“ None !” answered Theseus. 

“ And there is no maiden whom you regret to lose ?” 

The Athenian youth gazed a moment into the face of 
the princess, and then replied, in low, tender tones : 

“ Pardon the speech, lady ; but justice bids me make 
it. Until my eyes drank in the loveliness of the daugh- 


86 


Thesetis. 


ter of King Minos my heart was free ; but now I am 
free no longer. If I triumph in the sacred cause I have 
undertaken, I shall leave Crete with deepest regret if 
I might leave thee behind. If I fall in the conflict, I 
shall die more happily because the light of thy smile 
hath illumined my pathway.” 

Ariadne pressed her hand upon her beating heart, 
and rested her head upon the shoulder of Thalia. In a 
little while she had recovered herself, and when she 
turned her gaze upon the youth again her beautiful 
face was aglow with rapturous joy. 

‘‘ Theseus, how did you hope to overcome the lions of 
Nubia ?” 

“ I had hoped, lady, that they would have left me my 
sword ; but they have taken it from me.” 

“And if you had a sword do you think you could 
conquer ?” 

“ I am sure of it,” 

“ Ah, sir — you know not the terrible power of. those 
beasts.” 

“ Lady, have you ever heard of Procrustes and Peri- 
phetes ?” 

“ Do you mean the horrible monsters of the Corinthian 
Isthmus ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ I have heard much of them.” 

“ I slew both these giants with my own hand. I 
should not fear the lions.” 

“ Suppose I were to give you a sword — such an one 
as you could conceal beneath your robe ?” 

“ Oh, dare I hope !” 

“ I came to serve you, sir. I can furnish you with a 
sword ; and I can give you a clew by which you may 
make your way out from the labyrinth when you have 
overcome the lions.” 


87 


Cupid in a Dungeon. 

Theseus sank upon his knees and caught the maiden’s 
hand. 

“ By the throne of high heaven, I beseech thee,” he 
cried, “ tell me if only pity moves thee to this ?” 

“ And suppose it were only pity !” 

“ I would cast the offer from me with the high hopes 
that must be crushed !” 

“ Suppose it were not pity ?” 

“ Oh, let me suppose it to be — love.” 

“ And think ye, Theseus, that the heart of Ariadne 
cannot be moved ? Know, that thy words have been 
spoken to one who can return in full the solemn pledge 
of devoted love.” 

Theseus started up, but Ariadne waved him back, 
and then turned to her attendant. 

“ Thalia, hasten thee to my chamber, and bring the 
sword which my mother gave me. You know where 
it is.” 

“ Yes, lady.” 

“ And in the box of sandal-wood upon the table 
beneath the silver mirror, you will find an ivory cup 
with a golden cover. Bring that also. Take the 
lantern, and make all haste.” 

Thalia departed, leaving behind the lamp which had 
been brought from the guard room. 

“ Dear lady,” said Theseus, when the beautiful face 
was once more turned toward him, “ the gods forbid 
that this should be a dream ! Is my love for thee 
returned ?” 

“ With all the strength of my being,” answered 
Ariadne. “ I never loved until my eyes beheld thee.” 

“ And thou, sweet Ariadne, wert the first to touch 
my heart with the Erotic dart. But, — I must leave 
Crete when I come forth from the labyrinth.” 

“And may not Ariadne go with thee t" 


88 


Theseus, 


The Athenian youth opened his arms, and the lovely 
princess of Crete rested upon his bosom. 

“ Rest here, sweet one !” he cried, as he wound his 
stout arms about her. “ Rest upon this bosom, and 
fear not. The temple of Vesta never offered safer 
retreat to the daughters of earth than thou shalt find 
within these arms. If thou wilt go with me, and be 
my wife, I will love thee while I live, and I will pray 
daily to the gods that after we have passed the dark 
river we may be re-united upon the Elysian shore, 
there to spend brighter years than earth can give in 
those happy blessed isles ! Dear Ariadne, wilt thou 
have it so ?’' 

She clung more closely to him, and whispered words 
that made his heart bound with delirious joy. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE LABYRINTH. 

Thalia was prompt, and almost before the lovers had 
realized that she was gone she returned, bearing with 
her the sword and the ivory cup. Ariadne took the 
sword and held it for a moment in her hand, as though 
she hesitated. It was a short, wide bladed, two-edged 
weapon, with a hilt and guard of solid gold, inlaid with 
precious stones ; the scabbard being of the finest 
grained wood, richly carved and inlaid. 

“ Dear Theseus,” the princess said, “ should this 
sword fail you against the lions, I should have no wish 
to live.” 

“ It cannot fail me if the blade is true,” replied our 
hero, confidently. 


89 


The Labyrinth. 


“ I am not much used to the inspection of arms,” pur- 
sued Ariadne ; “ but I know that a better blade than 
this, so far as quality is concerned, cannot be found. 
My mother was Ino, the daughter of CEneus, King of 
Calydon. There was a conspiracy once in the kingdom 
of Calydon, and it was planned that when CEneus could 
be caught unarmed he should be slain. He learned of 
the plot, and determined to punish the conspirators with 
his own hand. He summoned an armorer from Persia, 
and ordered that a sword should be made, of ordinary 
weight, but yet so contracted in size that it could be 
hidden beneath his robe. The armorer set about the 
work, and when the weapon was finished it was found 
that even the most obdurate metals were as wood be- 
neath its stroke. The finest tempered armor could 
not mar its edge, nor could dampness dim the lustre of 
its polished sides. King CEneus hid this sword beneath 
his robe, and walked forth alone, as was often his wont. 
The conspirators, ten in number, attacked him, and he 
slew them all. My mother was his only child, and when 
he lay upon his death-bed he gave the sword to her, di- 
recting her, if she ever had a son, to give it to him. 
But my mother had no sons, and she gave the sword to 
me. And I,” the maiden continued, regarding the youth 
with a look of melting tenderness, “in this first hour of 
my great joy, give the priceless weapon to thee. And, 
Oh ! may the gods smile propitiously upon thee !” 

Theseus took the sword, and as he balanced it in his 
hand he felt himself again the hero of the Corinthian 
Isthmus. 

“ Sweet Ariadne, I am armed now, and I fear not the 
lions of Nubia. Thy gift shall not fail me.” 

The tone and bearing of the noble youth inspired the 
princess with so much confidence that she thought of 
the wild beasts no more with dread. 


90 


Theseus. 


“ But,” she said, “ there is one thing more. When 
you have slain the lions you are not free from the laby- 
rinth.” 

“ Is that labyrinth, then, so intricate ?” 

“ Aye, Theseus. Mortal prowess stands unarmed and 
helpless in the wonderful mazes of that place. Thous- 
ands have sought to make their way out from the inner 
cave, but never have any succeeded.” 

“ Still, sweet love, I will not despair. Surely the gods 
are with me.” 

“ So is Ariadne with thee, noble Theseus ; and she 
can help thee still.” She turned and took the ivory cup 
from her attendant, and having removed the golden 
cover she found what she desired. 

“ Here,” she continued, returning to her lover, “ is a 
ball of silk. The thread is as fine as the web of a spider 
and yet so strong that it cannot be easily broken. When 
you reach the entrance to the labyrinth you will be 
blindfolded ; but that will be no hindrance. You can 
easily allow the end of this thread to become entangled 
in the shrubbery, and as you are led on you can let the 
ball revolve in your hand, thereby leaving behind you 
a sure guide when you wish to retrace your steps.” 

“ Verily, the gods are smiling upon me !” cried The- 
seus, as he took the silken ball ; “ and thou, blessed one, 
art the messenger Heaven hath vouchsafed to send unto 
me. 

At this point Thalia touched her mistress’ arm, and 
reminded her that the hour of midnight was close at 
hand. 

“ Aye,” murmured Ariadne, “ I know I must tear my- 
self away.” 

“ If there is danger to thee in remaining here, haste 
away at once,” said Theseus. “ Only tell me how we 
shall meet again.” 


The Labyrinth, 


91 


“ I will look to that,” replied the princess. “ If you 
come forth safely from the labyrinth, the king will set 
you free at once ; and after that you will wait until you 
hear from me. O remember, my love, that Ariadne’s 
life hangs upon thy fate !” 

Once more she rested upon the bosom of her lover, 
and when he had kissed her upon the brow, and whis- 
pered more words of hope and cheer, she released herself 
from his embrace, and followed Thalia from the cell. 
The door was bolted and barred as they had found 
it, and without awakening any of the sentinels they 
reached their own apartments. 

The guard should have been changed at midnight, 
but it was not ; still the king was not to know that his 
soldiers had slept upon their posts, for the officer 
who had charge of the guards had himself slept, and 
when he awoke, and found the morning star already up, 
he did not deem it prudent to make a report of the 
remissness of his men, since such a report would of 
necessity make public his own shortcoming. So Minos 
imagined that his prisoners had been under the watch- 
ful care of sleepless sentinels all night. 

When the princess reached her chamber she sank 
down upon a low stool and rested her head in Thalia’s 
lap. 

“ Good Thalia, perhaps you think I have done 
wrong ?” 

“ I do not see how you could have done otherwise 
than you did, dear lady. It would have been very 
unsafe to have brought the youth away from the 
dungeon.” 

You do not understand me. I meant that perhaps 
you would think I ought not to have seen Theseus 
at all.” 


92 


Theseus. 


“ Mercy ! How can such an idea dwell in your 
thoughts ! How could you help seeing him ?” 

“ I could have remained away from him,” said the 
princess, reluctantly. 

” And thereby directly opposed the will of the gods,” 
replied Thalia, promptly. ” Don’t think such things, 
my dear lady. You have a safe guide in the future. 
If Theseus overcomes the terrible lions, even with the 
sword you have given him, will it not be proof enough 
that your work is blessed of heaven ?” 

‘‘ Ah ; but if he does not overcome the lions !” 

“ We will think of that when we have need ; but for 
the present let us think of brighter things. I believe 
he will not fail. Did you ever behold such magni- 
ficence of manhood before ? He is as beautiful as 
Apollo, and as powerful as a Cyclops. The richness of 
flowery spring is his, and his breath is as the sweetest 
zephyr. His words are like the words of a god, and his 
voice is like heavenly niusic. His eyes are like the 
evening lamps of Hesperus, and his brow is fit to wear 
the crown of nations !” 

Ariadne sighed as her attendant ceased speaking, 
and her further thoughts of the Athenian youth were 
soon softened into pleasant dreams. 

On the following morning all work was suspended in 
the Cretan capital, and at an early hour the people be- 
gan to gather in the streets leading to the palace. At 
the appointed hour Minos gave directions to have the 
victims brought forth, and, one by one, they were led 
again before the king. 

When the prisoners were first led from their cells, 
upon beholding each other again they began to sob 
and weep ; but Theseus bade them take courage and 
bear up. 

” I know,” said he, “ the dangers we have to encoun- 


The Labyrinth. 


93 


ter, and I am prepared to meet them. I shall go first 
into the labyrinth, and if death comes I must be the first 
victim. But I do not think I shall die. Last night a 
blessed messenger from the gods visited me in my cell, 
and gave me assurance that my prayers should be an- 
swered ; and you know the burden of those prayers. 
We may yet behold the shores of Attica again.” 

Not only the words of the hero, but his tone and 
bearing of confidence, gave to the doomed ones new 
hope, and they walked forth from the palace with calm 
and dignified look. Minos was surprised when he saw 
them ; and the Egyptian king, who sat by his side, won- 
dered how those doomed maidens could be so resigned 
in the presence of such a terrible fate. 

” It must be,” said Minos, ” that the bearing of that 
comely youth who leads the van inspires them with ^ 
resolution.” 

Serapis nodded assent, aifd once more proposed to 
purchase the youth spoken of ; but Minos shook his 
head. He could not listen. 

' The nearest route to the labyrinth was by water, so 
the victims were led down to the seashore, where they 
were embarked upon a galley in which were a hundred 
soldiers. The king’s galley followed next, and after 
that came a score of vessels of all sorts and sizes. Ere 
long the lofty peak of Mount Ida loomed up in sight, 
and at the end of two hours the vessels landed. The 
victims were conducted through a thick wood, after pass- 
ing which they came to the base of one of the huge 
spurs of rock that shot off from the mountain. Theseus, 
who was led in advance, saw the mouth of a cavern 
yawning close at hand, and he asked a soldier by his 
side if they were to enter there. The soldier nodded in 
the affirmative. Shortly after this the procession 
stopped, and the eyes of the Athenians were closely 


94 


Theseus. 


bandaged, and their arms securely bound behind them. 
While this was being done King Minos addressed them 
as follows ; 

“ Youths and maidens of Athens, it is with no pleas- 
ure that I now consign you to your fate. Your king 
made war upon Crete, and shed much blood. The gods 
gave me victory over him, and I intended to lay Athens 
in ashes, and put its inhabitants to the sword ; but 
.^geus prevailed upon me to soften my decree of ven- 
geance, and take instead a yearly tribute such as this 
which now comes to me. But even now Athens has a 
chance for redemption. If you can overcome the twelve 
lions that roam through the labyrinth, and after that 
make your way back to the outer world, your lives are 
yours, and Athens is free henceforth from the heavy 
burden.” 

As the king ceased speaking, the victims were led 
forward toward the mouA of the cavern. Theseus 
had contrived, during the time that his arms were being 
tied behind him, to hold the ball of silk in his hand, 
and when he felt the shrubbery brush against him he let 
fall the end of the thread, and very soon he had the sat- 
isfaction of knowing that it had become entangled in 
the rubbish over which he trod. 

Slowly the dismal procession moved on, turning and 
winding constantly — now through the depths of some 
dark, damp cavern — now through some rocky chamber 
of higher altitude — now in the open air, where the wind 
sighed through thick branches — now hemmed in by 
solid walls, and now through a maze of shrubs, the sharp 
^ thorns of which pricked the flesh of those who stepped 
aside— all the while turning and twisting, until they 
were almost dizzy. 

At length the Athenians were allowed to stop, and 
the hands of their conductors were removed. Theseus 


The Labyrinth. 95 


listened attentively, and he fancied that he heard 
stealthy footsteps, as though those who had led them 
i thither were creeping away. 

“ Glaucis,” he said, turning toward his companions. 

“ I am here,” replied the youth who had walked next 
, to our hero. He was the child of an Athenian officer, 
I and one of the bravest and best of the sons of Hellas. 

“ I think our conductors have left us,” pursued The- 
I seus. 

“ If they have,” added Glaucis, with some show of 
i concern, “ we had better get rid of our bonds as soon 
i as possible.” 

“We can readily accomplish that,” replied Theseus. 

! “ Let us stand back to back, and while you cast off the 
; bond from my arm, I will do the same for you.” 

I The thing was quickly done, and when our hero had 
removed the bandage from his eyes, and assured him- 
self that his sword was safe, he dropped his ball of silk 
upon the ground, and then assisted in freeing the rest 
of his companions. The place in which they found 
I themselves was a sort of amphitheatre, a part of the 
! wall being of solid rock, while the rest was of masonry. 

I There were two outlets, one upon the right hand, and 
one upon the left. Through the passage upon the right 
could be seen green foliage ; but the other was dark 
and uncertain. 

“ By which of these ways did we enter ?” asked 
Glaucis. 

“We came in that way,” replied Theseus, pointing 
to the dark passage. 

“ How do you know V' 

“ I know !” was our hero’s simple answer ; and it 
was sufficient to settle the matter. None of his com- 
panions had discovered the silken thread which had 
guided him in his decision, for it was so fine that the 


Theseus. 


96 


uninitiated would be most likely, even if they noticed it, 
to mistake it for the web of a spider. 

The seven maidens were all of them fair to look upon, 
and in the bond of that common doom they were as 
sisters one to another, and the youths were to them as 
brothers. A solemn sense of the noble sacrifice they 
were fated to make in behalf of their native city calmed! 
down those passions which else might have ripenedj 
into love, and they were like the children of one house-j 
hold. But all looked to Theseus as to an elder brother, j 
and the maidens drew near unto him, as though he! 
alone could save them from harm. 

“ Shall we remain here, or shall we go on ?” said one 
of the youths. 

“ We will seek some other place," returned Theseus.: 

“ We will go and see how yonder grove appears," sug- 
gested Glaucis. I 

“ No," said the son of .^Ethra. “ Let us go no farther’ 
into the mazes of this labyrinth than we have been led.^' 
We came in by this dark passage, and by that we will!* 
go out.” I 

None opposed him, and having picked up the silkenl 
ball and put it into his pocket, he led the way. The^ 
passage was narrow and dark, and seemed to have been- i 
cut through the solid rock ; but at length an abrupt turn- 
brought them out into daylight again, and they now] 
stood upon a grassy cushion, some twenty paces in diam-] 
eter, which was surrounded, as the amphitheatre hadj. 
been, partly by the native rock and partly by a wall of 
masonry. From this place there were no less than ten 
passages, all leading in different directions. 

“ Mercy !” cried one of the youths, “ who shall tell us 
which of these ways to take ?" 

“ I think I can select it,” replied Theseus, whose 
quick eye had detected the silken thread. 


What Theseus did. 


97 


Before further remark could be made a sound broke 
upon the air which caused brave men to quake with ter- 
ror. It was a roar, long, loud, and terrible, increasing 
in volume until the very mountain shook. 

“ O ye gods ! the lions have been let loose !” gasped 
the maiden Andromeda. 

Theseus held up his finger and bent his ear to listen. 

The monsters were not far away ! i 


CHAPTER X. 

WHAT THESEUS DID. 

It was soon evident that the lions had scented their 
prey. Their roaring was eager and persistent, and the 
poor victims fancied that they could hear tlie gnashing 
of the deadly teeth. 

“ We can do nothing,” said Glaucis. “ We are dead 
to Athens forever.” 

“ We will kneel here, and close our eyes to the horri- 
ble sight,” murmured Andromeda. 

“Wait,” said Theseus. “If the lions come all to- 
gether, our fate may be a hard one ; but if they have 
order in their coming, and come not too fast, we may 
escape.” 

“ It cannot be,” returned Glaucis. “ The gods are not 
with us ; and surely no human power can withstand the 
'monsters.” 

As Glaucis ceased speaking a roar more terrific than 
any which had preceded it rent the air, and a cry of 
alarm went up from the affrighted maidens. Andro- 
meda, with two others, sank upon her knees and bowed 


98 


Theseus. 


her head, while the rest, with three of the youths, fled 
toward some of the narrow dark passages. 

Again the awful roar shook the mountain, and pres- 
ently a lion appeared, emerging from one of the passes. 
He was a huge beast, his thick black mane giving him 
a look of fearful majesty, while his eyes gleamed like 
balls of fire. He lashed his sides with his sweeping 
tail, and his foam-dripping teeth were exposed, ready 
for the work bf death. Theseus threw his mantle from 
his shoulders and wound it closely about his left arm ; 
and then he drew the sword which Ariadne had given 
him. 

“ My brothers,” he cried, as he felt the glad weight of 
the priceless weapon, and glanced his eye along its keen, 
sure edge, “ you see that the gods have not entirely for- 
saken us. Stand as you are and leave this beast to 
me.” 

With bold, fearless step the son of ^thra approached 
the lion, and when he had come to within a few paces 
he stopped. The king of beasts had evidently never 
witnessed anything of the kind before, for he gave a 
startled growl and moved back a pace. When he met 
,the keen, fixed glance of Thesus’ eye he crouched low 
down, as though he would wait until that glance was 
removed before he advanced. There were other lions 
close at hand, and our hero knew there was no time to 
lose. He saw that the beast before him was puzzled, 
and the moment of this uncertainty must be taken ad- 
vantage of. He marked the spot where he would strike, 
and then he called on the gods to help him.> As though 
in answer to this prayer, the lion turned his gaze upon 
the kneeling maidens, and on that instant Theseus ad- 
vanced his left arm and sprang forward. The beast# 
fixed his terrible jaws upon the thick swathing, but he 
did not close them with full power, for the broad-bladed 


What Theseus did. 


99 


sword was buried to its hilt in his throat, the point hav- 
ing gone through his heart. In a few moments Theseus 
shook the teeth of the dying monster from his arm, and 
arose to his feet. 

“ One of the twelve is slain,” he said, as he wiped his 
dripping blade upon the mane of the prostrate beast. 

“ But the sword — the sword,” cried Glaucis. “ Whence 
came it ?” 

“ It came from the hands of a blessed spirit,” replied 
our hero ; “ and if the gods did not instigate the gift, I 
verily believe they smiled upon the deed.” 

There was no time for further remark, for at that 
moment another lion made his appearance. He was 
larger than the first and came with more ferocity ; but 
when he met the keen flash of Theseus’ eye he stopped, 
and his mane drooped. 

“ See,” exclaimed the son of ^thra, without remov- 
ing his fixed gaze ; “ these beasts cannot understand the 
look of a bold, determined man. The quivering fright- 
ened wretch would be as nothing in their jaws, and such 
have they been wont to meet.” 

Theseus felt full confidence in his own prowess, aided 
by the gift of Ariadne and when he saw the lion 
crouching lower down before him, he boldly advanced ; 
but this time he did not offer his arm ; he leaped upon 
the lion’s back, at the same instant plunging the stout 
blade through the spine of the neck. The beast leaped 
from beneath his enemy, and fell dead at the feet of 
Andromeda. The youths and maidens, when they saw 
this second monster slain, began to take courage ; and 
they now looked upon Theseus as something more than 
mortal. 

But there was no time for rest. The lions had dis- 
covered the whereabouts of their prey, and were moving 
towards the spot. The third made his appearance while 


lOO 


Thesetis. 


the cry of terror was yet upon Andromeda’s lips, coming 
in where the first had come. He stopped as he emerged 
from the narrow passage, and gazed around as though 
he would select for himself the daintiest morsel offered. 
Presently, however, he caught Theseus’ eye and hes- 
itated He had met his master and he seemed to know 
it, for his growling ceased, and his tail stopped its lash- 
ing. This time Theseus stooped down and offered the 
bandaged arm ; but before the gleaming teeth could be 
set upon it, the keen sword, cutting the air like a flash 
of light, was buried in his vitals. 

“ There are but nine left,” cried our hero, as he once 
more arose to his feet. “ Oh, my brothers, forget not 
the gods in this hour of need.” 

Another, and another of the hungry beasts came, and 
Theseus was ready to meet them. His heart fainted 
not ; his arm failed not ; and his trusty sword was true 
to its aim. Eight of the Hons came into that amphithe- 
atre, and there they died. There were four more, and 
their eager roars could be distinctly heard, though they 
were evidently at some distance. 

“We will wait here no longer,” said Theseus, “ for it 
is now past noon,— aye, it must be well on towards 
the close of the day, — and the other lions may not come 
this way until after dark. These beasts have evidently 
been in the habit of having their prey rush into their 
deadly jaws, and they think that some of us, in our ter- 
ror, must surely come their way. Follow me, and 
we shall be likely soon to find them.” 

“ We must trust to fate in our selection from these 
passages,” remarked Glaucis, gazing around with a 
bewildered look. 

“ Fear not,” replied Theseus. “ The kind spirit which 
hath helped us thus far will not desert us while the son 
of .^thra lives. Follow me.” 


What Thesezis did. 


lOI 


Our hero had seen his silken thread running away 
into one of the narrowest of the passages — a pass from 
which four of the lions had emerged — and having 
moved to that point he picked up the clue, and pre- 
pared to proceed. Some of the maidens would have 
shrank from the dark passage, but the assurance of their 
leader gave them courage, and they followed on. 
There were many windings, and more than once did 
Glaucis and his companions express the fear that they 
were going wrong ; but their guide simply bade them 
follow on while their feet found open space before 
them. At length they reached another amphitheatre, 
and just as the maidens were following the youths into 
the opening, a huge lion made his appearance on 
the opposite side. 

“ Look,” cried Theseus, pointing with his sword. 
“ See how the beast quails before us. These monsters, 
so terrible when their presence strikes the victim with 
palsy, are not so openly bold when upright man meets 
them without fear.” 

“Ah,” suggested Glaucis, “the beast sees the sharp 
sword, and that surprises him.” 

“ I think not,” answered Theseus. “ The brute 
knows not the power of this weapon. He simply waits 
for us to turn our backs.” 

“ But,” pursued Glaucis, “ should your sword fail you,- 
even for an instant, the lion would kill you.” 

“ Yes,” admitted our hero ; “ because the weapons 
which nature has given him are more elfective than 
the simple hands of mortal man. But we are not cast 
upon that chance. Behold !” 

The youthful hero leaped upon the crouching lion 
and drove the faithful blade deep into the seat of his 
life. Once the monster gained his feet after the blade 


102 


Theseus. 


had fallen, but Theseus threw him back by mail 
strength, and plunged the sword again into his body. 

A second lion made its appearance in that sam 
place, and he was slain as the other had been ; afte 
which Theseus picked up the silken thread, and move 
on again. The voices of the two remaining Hons wer 
plainly heard, but they had no more terrors for th 
Athenians. Ere long Theseus met one of the savag 
brutes in a narrow passage, and without the least hes 
tation he advanced until within two paces of the anima 
When the lion saw the steady advance, and met th 
keen gaze of the hero, he seemed to be stricken wit 
enervating surprise ; and when he found the man s 
near upon him, he turned about, and would have flee 
but Theseus sprang quickly forward, and struck him 
furious blow behind the right shoulder. At this th 
lion faced his antagonist again, but a second blow com 
pletely disabled him. 

“Oh, ye gods!’’ cried Glaucis, “vouchsafe thine ah 
to the end ! There is but one more lion ; and may h 
fall as his mates have fallen.” 

“ Fear not for the result,” s'aid Theseus. “ I am jus 
beginning to feel in mood for the sport. King Mino 
must find something more powerful than lions if hi 
would finish the doom of the conqueror of Procruste; 
and Periphetes. Hark ! The twelfth lion is not fa 
off.” 


low 

0 


a 

ness 


'1 


evei 

Sev 


thri 

left 


sue 


And so it proved. In a small opening the last lior 
was met. He came with savage growl and glaring eyes fj 
evidently surprised to see what a feast his compamonjim 
had left for him. For a few moments he stood viewing' if 
the scene, and then he turned towards the maidens 
probably thinking that they would make the most deli 
cate meal to begin with. But he was not destined tc^ 
taste the delicious repast, Theseus, like a thunder-bol 


What TJiesetis did. 


103 


From the hand of Jove, leaped upon the monster’s back, 
and drove home the sharp sword, separating the spine 
dose by where it entered the skull. 

“ Now, thanks be to the gods, we have the way open 
Defore us !" cried our hero, as he wiped his sword and 
'eturned it to its sheath. 

“ And who shall lead us out ?” asked Glaucis. 

“ I will,” replied Theseus. “ Interrupt me not, but fol- 
.ow close behind me.” 

On went the guide, gathering up the silken thread as 
le advanced ; turning and winding ; now in total dark- 
■il less beneath the roof of some deep cavern ; then grop- 
iJ ,ng along a narrow pass which threatened to close up at 
le( ivery step ; and anon opening into some amphitheatre, 
B Several times did they catch glimpses of verdant foliage 
th ihrough passages upon the right hand and upon the 
M eft, but not yet had Theseus’ clue led him into any such 
ilace. His companions had begged of him to go by 
ai mch inviting ways, but he had steadily refused. At 
h length, as they were traversing a desolate chamber of 
rock, from which there were many ways of egress,' Glau- 
us ns espied, through an opening directly ahead, a beauti- 
D0i:ul garden in which were all manner of fruits, shrubs, 
li( and flowers, 

;tei “Let us go that way! Let us go that way I” he 
fai jrged. 

And others seconded his request, 
im “ Brothers,” said Theseus, “ if it will please you to 
es,new yonder verdant spot, we will go thither and feast 
DSDur eyes ; but, remember, we have not much time to 
flg waste.” 

“But the garden may be the true way,” returned 
;li- Glaucis. “ Who knows but we may here find ourselves 
to free.” 

olt “ We shall see,” answered Theseus ; and thus speak- 


104 


Theseus. 


ing he took the ball of silk from his pocket, and hkving 
fastened an end of the thread to one of the rocks at his 
feet, he allowed it to unwind as he proceeded. 

The garden was found to be more beautiful than had 
even been supposed. There were fruit trees in blos- 
som, and fruit trees laden with fruit fully ripened. 
There were flowers in the bud, and flowers in full 
bloom ; and there were sweet-scented herbs, and shrubs 
of various kinds. There were also trees of larger 
growth, within the branches of which sang many a 
sweet-voiced bird. 

“ My good Glaucis,” said Theseus, “ you shall now 
take the lead, and pilot us through this garden. Go on, 
— we will follow thee.” 

Glaucis would have refused this distinguished post ; 
but, seeing that the garden had been visited at his sug- 
gestion, he could not well resign the proffered place ; 
so he took the lead, and wandered off through the 
broadest path that presented itself, Theseus bringing 
up the rear. By and by the end of the garden was ' 
reached, and Glaucis found himself confronted by a per- 
pendicular wall of solid rock. Near at hand stood a tall 
tree, and having climbed to the top of this he discovered 
that the garden was of irregular shape, and shut in on 
all hands by a wall over which even his then elevated 
position would not permit him to look. He came down 
and reported what he had seen. 

“ If such is the case,” said one of the youths, “ you 
had better lead us back to where Theseus had brought 
us.” 

Glaucis said he would do so at once ; and thereupon 
he started to jretrace his steps ; but in a very short 
time he found himself at fault. He came to a point 
where three paths, exactly alike, led off in different di- 
rections. He took the middle one, and when he reached 


What Theseus did. 


105 


the wall of rock he discovered before him several cav- 
ernous openings like the one from which they emerged. 

“Forgive me !” he cried, when he had assured him- 
self that he was utterly lost, “ Let Theseus take the 
lead and I will offer no more remonstrance.” 

With a smile our hero once more placed himself at 
the head of the party, and his first movement thereafter 
was to turn back to the centre of the garden, from 
which point he took a new course, and soon led the way 
to another section of the wall. Here, as before, there 
were found numerous cavernous openings, but the 
guide did not hesitate. He entered one of them, and 
ere long they stood where they had stood before Glau- 
cis drew them away, 

“ Now,” said Theseus, after he had secured his clue, 
“ we must waste no more time. The day is well-nigh 
spent, and I would be free from this labyrinth before 
the night comes. Trust in me and I will lead you forth 
in safety.” 

“ Lead on,” they cried, with one accord. “ We have 
full faith in thee.” 

Slowly but -surely the son of ^thra pursued the 
devious way, and several times he reached places which 
his companions were sure had been passed before. 

“ This place I know we have once before visited,” 
said Glaucis, as they stood within a broad cavern where 
pillars of grey basalt supported the roof. 

And so it had appeared to Theseus ; but he was sure 
that he held the silken thread in his hand, and he con- 
sequently knew that he had made no mistake. 

“ It is one of the mysteries of this mysterious laby- 
rinth,” he said, as his followers hesitated. “ Let your 
eyes follow my steps, and trust not to the appearances 
about you!” 

Again they followed him, and nt length they reached 


io6 


Theseus. 


a dark, dismal cavern, damp and miasmatic, from the 
unseen depths of which came the startling- hisses of liz- j 
ards and snakes. l 

“ On ! on ! ” cried Theseus. “ Faint not here ; for, if 
1 mistake not, we are near to the outer world.” [ 

Feeling carefully for the silken clue, he groped his 
way through the dense blackness of the noisome place, | 
and finally he found himself in a narrow pass, at the i 
far end of which he saw a faint glimmering of light. i 
On, on he went, his companions following close be- 
hind him, and in a little while they emerged from the | 
dark cavern, and stood where they had stood before 
their eyes had been bandaged by the officers of King'l 
Minos. The sun had gone, and the stars were begin- ! 
ning their course in the heavens. 

Down upon their knees sank the Athenians ; and the 1 
gods must have been reckless indeed if they did not re- 
ceive with smiles the return of thank offerings which 
ascended from the lips and hearts of those delivered 
mortals who knelt on that evening beneath the shad- 
ows of Mount Ida. 


CHAPTER XI. - 

SOMETHING IS MISSED IN CRETE. 

The morning was bright and beautiful, and Minos, 
king of ‘Crete, with Serapis, king of Egypt, enjoyed 
the fresh breeze that swept over the walls of the palace 
from the sea. Serapis now urged that the lovely 
Ariadne should be given to him for his wife, and Minbs 
offered no objections. 


Sofue thing is Missed in Crete. 107 


■ “I think,” said Serapis, “that the maiden does not 
• et love me ; but, if what you say be true, — if she had 
ever loved another — I shall not despair.” 
f I “ What I have told thee I know,” replied Minos, con- 
idently. “ My daughter’s heart is not another’s.” 

'j “ Then, my brother,” pursued the Egyptian, “let us 
iinish the business at once. If the princess is to be my 
' ife, why not make her so at once, and then I can re- 
irn to my kingdom when I please.” 

“ By the life of my body, Serapis,” answered Minos, 
rankly and earnestly, “ you shall name the hour.” 
“What hour better than the present.^ Remember, 
linos, the time to come is not ours.” 

“ As you will, so it shall be. ” 

“ Then I will that the hand*bf the princess Ariadne 
lall be given unto me now.” 

“ Good Serapis, I like the plan. Slie is already prom- 
ed to thee, and the event is expected. I will summon 
le chief men of the city, and the “priests of the temple, 
ad the ceremony shall forwith go on. But you must 
ot leave us in haste. Let us enjoy the light of thy 
resence some days yet.” 

“ That cannot well be, my brother. My kingdom is 
irge, and my presence is needed in my capital. Still, 
will not hasten away without sufficient cause.” 

Minos dispatched messengers after the priests and 
le chief men of the city, and then he sought his 
aughter, whom he found alone in her chamber. 

“ Where is your attendant ?” he asked. 

Ariadne hesitated, and before she could reply Thalia 
ime in through one of the open windows. 

“ How !” cried the king, in amazement ; “ do you 
'ander about upon the walls of the palace ?” 

“ I have been out upon the roof to get a breath of 
:esh air,” replied the girl. 


io8 


Theseus. 


;) 

Ml 


“ Have a care for thyself, foolish child. Know that 
none save sentinels should venture upon the watch- 
towers.” 

Then the king turned to Ariadne and informed her 
of the arrangement he had made. She was about to 
sink upon her knees at her father’s feet, but he pre- 
vented her. 

“ Daughter,” he said, with a frown that made his face 
look terrible, “ I can listen to no more objections. You'^ 
belong to the king of Egypt, and the seal must be 
quickly set upon your brow. Your attendants will be 
sent to you, and in one hour you will appear in the 
marble hall, where rests the throne of Crete.” 

With these words the king withdrew ; and when he 
was gone, and the door had been closed behind him, 
Ariadne clasped her hands, and raised her eyes toward 
heaven. 

“ Oh, ye gods !” she cried, “ deliver me from this 
great evil !” 

“ And if the gods do not deliver you, what will you 
do ?” asked Thalia. 

“ I shall be dishonored if I become the wife of the 
king of Egypt,” replied the princess ; “ for I — ” 

She stopped, and pressed her hands over her heart, 

“ I was going to say,” she added, “ that I am solemnly, 
pledged to the hero of Attica ; but, alas ! where is he 

“ I could see nothing from the tower, my lady. Yet 
he may be safe, though — ” 

“ Though you cannot believe it,” said Ariadne, help- 
ing her attendant out with the sentence. 

“ You have spoken my thought, dear lady. When I 
think of the dangers of that terrible labyrinth, I cannot 
believe that mortal man can meet them and live.” 

“ Enough,” uttered the princess, controlling herself 
by a mighty effort. “ Let the worst come. I am pre- 


Something is Missed in Crete. 


109 


pared. I must obey my father at present ; but the dark 
Egyptian shall never bear me from these shores ; nor 
shall he possess me for a wife. If my beloved has 
passed to the shadowy vale, I will follow him. Now go, 
good Thalia, and prepare to accompany me to the 
marble hall. So far as my father has power to force 
me, I must go, and those who see me upon the way he 
leads shall not see the spirit of grief that moves within 
me. I will bear myself as becomes a princess of Crete 
while those eyes are upon me. If I am calm and 
resigned, it is because the conviction is strong in my 
soul that the gods will not forsake my beloved. Now 
hasten, and be with me when I go to my father.” 

From that moment Ariadne was firm. She knew 
that she could not successfully oppose her father in this 
first step ; but she was resolved, come what might, that 
she would never go to Egypt with Serapis. She arrayed 
herself in her richest attire, and at the appointed time 
the waiting-women were with her to conduct her to the 
great hall. 

The marble hall of king Minos’ palace was in the cen- 
tre of the structure, the walls, and the roof, and the pil- 
lars being all of the whitest and purest marble. About 
the throne were twelve pilasters of amethyst, and the 
hangings were of purple cloth, elaborately adorned 
with gold and precious stones. Minos was in the chair 
of state, and upon his right hand sat the king of Egypt, 
while upon the pavement below were assembled the 
priests and the chief men of the city. 

An exclamation of admiration burst from the lips of 
the Egyptian as he saw Ariadne enter the hall. She 
was indeed resplendantly lovely, outshining her atten- 
dants as the full moon outshines the stars that gather 
about her way. 

“ By the gods Osiris and Isis,” cried Serapis, “ I 


1 10 


Theseus. 


never beheld such beauty before ! A new light will 
shine in my palace ; and as I bask in its warmth of love 
I shall remember with deepest gratitude tne king of 
Crete. The enemies of Minos shall be the enemies of 
Serapis, and Minos’ friends shall be his friends.” 

This speech pleased the Cretan king, and he forth, 
with commanded his daughter to approach the throne. 
The maiden had taken but a single step in answer to 
this summons when the proceedings were interrupted 
by the hasty and unceremonious entrance of Galbo, the 
keeper of the labyrinth. 

“ Ha, Galbo,” cried Minos, impatiently, “what means 
this unseemly intrusion ?” 

“ Sire,” replied the keeper, advancing and kneeling at 
the foot of the throne, “ I have news of the utmost im- 
portance to communicate.” 

“ Speak, speak, Galbo. What is it ?” 

“ Sire, your lions are all slain, and the Athenians are 
free.” 

“ No, no,” exclaimed Minos. “ Not all the lions.” 

“Yes, sire. I have seen the twelve bodies.” 

“ But the Athenians have not found their way out 
from the labyrinth.” 

“ Yes, sire ; and even now they are in the court of 
your palace.” 

“ Then by the gods !” cried king Minos, starting to his 
feet, “ there must have been some treachery. They 
must have had some guide.” 

“ Sire, they could have had no human guide.” 

At this juncture one of the aged priests stepped forth 
and addressed the king : 

“ Sire, wonder not that this thing hath been done. It 
hath been told to us that Attica should produce a son 
who should free his people from the burden of that ter- 
rible tribute.” 


Something is Missed in Crete. 


1 1 1 


“ Galbo,“ spoke the monarch, “ who led the Athenians 
forth from the labyrinth ?” 

“ The youth called Theseus, sire.” 

“ Bring him hither at once.” And having given this 
order, Minos turned to the place where stood his daugh- 
ter surrounded by her attendants. Had he been less 
occupied by the startling announcement of the keeper 
he might have noticed the wonderful effect which was 
apparent upon the face of the princess ; but he had no 
thought then of such things. 

“ Ariadne, you may retire for the present — you and 
your attendants.” 

Then he turned to Serapis : 

“ My royal brother, you will pardon me for this delay, 
but I must see these Athenians. By the King of 
Heaven there is something mysterious in this.” 

‘‘ So there is,” responded Serapis ; “ and I am curi- 
ous to know the secret. A few hours of waiting, under 
such circumstances, will not make the peerless maiden 
less welcome to my arms.” 

The princess did not wait for a second command 
from her father. She hastened away, and before she 
reached her private chamber she dismissed all her 
attendants save Thalia. 

“ What now ?” asked the serving-girl, as the door 
closed behind them. 

“ To my beloved !" cried Ariadne, with determined 
expression. “ I now have a goal before me. Listen to 
me, Thalia, and be ready to obey.” And with this she 
placed her hand upon her attendant s arm, and began to 
explain what she would have done. 

In the meantime King Minos waited anxiously for the 
appearance of the Athenians ; and when they came in, 
Theseus walked directly to the throne. 

” Thou art Theseus, the Athenian ?” said Minos, 


I I 2 


Theseus. 


viewing the noble proportions of the youth with an 
expression that partook more of envy than it did of 
admiration, though he could not repress all of the latter 
emotion. 

“ My name is Theseus, and I am of Athens,” replied 
our hero. Those who stood around were moved by the 
sound of that voice as they might have been moved by 
a sudden strain of sweet, majestic music. 

“ My keeper tells me that the twelve lions of the 
labyrinth are dead. Who slew them ?” 

“ I slew them, sire.” 

“How didst thou slay them.” 

“ With a weapon which was upon my person when I 
entered the labyrinth — a short, sharp blade which 
I carried beneath my dress.” 

“ But thy companions helped thee ?” 

“ No, sire ; there was no need. I gave myself to this 
work, fully believing that the gods would bear me out. 
I was a voluntary member of the tributary band, and it 
was my purpose to lift the fearful burden from Athens. 
1 have only done what I believed I was destined to 
do,” 

“But the labyrinth,” cried Minos, betraying some ex- 
citement ; “ how did you thread those intricate masses 
so successfully ? Did you not have some assistance 
from one who knew the secrets of the place ?” 

“ I think I did, sire.” 

“ Ha ! then there has been treachery !” 

“ I think, sire, that I must have received the assist- 
ance of some god or goddess. A bright presence, as 
beautiful as Venus, and with wisdom like Minerva, ap- 
peared to me at midnight, while I lay in your dungeon, 
and gave to me the understanding which enabled me to 
come forth from the depths of the wonderful labyrinth. 
More than this, sire, I gannot tell thee.” 


Something is Missed in Crete. 


1 1 




Minos turned to the Egyptian king and asked him 
what he thought of it. 

“ To me,” replied Serapis, “ it is very evident that 
the Athenian youth hath had the assistance of heaven, 
and it would be unwise to detain him.” 

“ You are right, my brother. The hand of an im- 
mortal is in the work, and I have no desire to interfere. 
I will at once send the Athenians on board their ship, 
and allow them to return to their native land. We will 
see them off, and then the nuptials shall be cele- 
brated.” 

Minos arose and announced to the Athenians that 
they were free, and that they should return to their 
ship as soon as they had partaken of refreshment. Then 
he sent for his heralds, and directed that they should 
proclaim through all Crete that the tribute from Athens 
was to be paid no more. 

Theseus and his companions were conducted to the 
banqueting hall, where provisions in abundance were 
placed before them, and when they had eaten sufficient 
the king met them in the court. 

“ Athenians,” he said, “not on my account shall you 
hasten away from Crete. We are to have festivities 
here, and your presence would please us.” 

Theseus spoke in reply : 

“ Sire, it would give us equal pleasure to remain with 
you were it not that in our native lahd there are many 
anxious ones, whose hearts now bleed, and who shall 
be comforted when we return. And yet I have one 
favor to ask. May we not go on board our ship, and 
there rest until the night cometh ; for I have taken a 
vow that I would not spread the sails for our return 
until Hesperus was prepared to light the way.” 

“Surely, noble Theseus,” answered Minos, with a 
gracious inclination of the head, “ I can refuse thee no 


Theseus. 


114 


favor of that kind. The waters of our harbor are free, 
and your ship may rest therein as long as it may please 
you.” 

The Cretan monarch accompanied the Athenians to 
the landing, and before they left he gave to Theseus a 
message for Aegeus, King of Athens, setting forth the 
things that had been done, and also proclaiming the 
freedom of the Attic city from further tribute of human 
life. Theseus promised to deliver the message, after 
which he reminded Minos that when he arrived in Crete 
he had a sword with him which he could not afford to 
lose. 

“ You will find every article on board your ship,” re- 
turned the king. 

With this assurance our hero bade Minos farewell, and 
then directed his companions to go into the boat which 
was waiting for them. They were all in, and Minos 
had departed ; and yet Theseus did not leave the land. 

“ What wait ye for?” asked Glaucis. 

Theseus made no reply, but continued to gaze around, 
as though something of importance were missing. 
Presently a boy came towards him, and called him by 
name. 

“Do you see yonder rock !” asked the lad, as he came 
near. 

Theseus looked in the direction pointed out, and re- 
plied that he saw it. 

“ Be tliere when the stars are lighted. Ariadne sends 
the word.” 

And vvith this the messenger turned and hastened 
away, but not until Theseus had recognized the features 
of the girl who had accompanied the princess to his 
dungeon. 

“ I am ready now,” he cried, as he stepped down and 
leaped into the boat. “ I was waiting to see if there 


Something is Missed in Crete. 


115 


mig-ht not be some further message from Crete to 
Athens.’' 

When they reached the ship their crew welcomed 
them back with shouts of joy ; and upon going into the 
cabin they found everything which had been taken from 
them. Theseus waited impatiently for the sun to dis- 
appear, and as soon as the stars began to twinkle in the 
heavens he caused his boat to be manned by four of his 
own companions, and having taken his seat at the helm, 
he steered for the rock which had been pointed out to 
him. As soon as the prow touched the shore he leaped 
forth, and called the name of the princess. 

“ Ariadne,” he cried, in eager tones, “ art thou here 
to bless me ?” 

“I have not yet proved false, dear Theseus,” replied 
the maiden, moving forward from the shadow of the 
rock. 

‘‘And wilt thou go with me to Greece, sweet love? 
Wilt thou leave thy home in Crete, and trust thy future 
with me ?" 

“ I do but flee from oppression when I leave these 
shores,” the princess replied, as she rested upon the 
I bosom of her lover. “ Oh, Theseus, thou wilt never 
I cease to love me !” 

' “ Never, blessed one. If I forget thee may these lips 

turn to stone, and this heart which now beats so rapt- 
urously in my bosom become a consuming fire. Come, 
sweet love, — the joys of more than mortal experience 
await us./ My life is thine and I freely dedicate it to 
thee.” 

Without more words Ariadne and Thalia were assist- 
ed into the boat, and when they reached the ship, and 
the boat had been secured, the sails were spread, and 
the helmsman, with the bright stars for his guide, 
steered towards Greece. 


Theseus. 


1 16 


And these stars were not observed alone by the 
helmsman. Theseus and Ariadne remained upon the 
deck until late in the evening, where they renewed 
their pledges of love, and built bright dwellings for the 
future joy that was in store for them. When they 
finally went below, Theseus gave the princess over to 
the keeping of the Athenian maidens, who, when they 
knew she had armed the hero for the work of their 
redemption, took her to their warmest and most devoted 
friendship and sisterly affection. 

* * « * * 

There was commotion in the royal palace of the king 
of Crete, The priests, and the chief men of the capital, 
were assembled again in the marble hall to witness the 
nuptials of Serapis and Ariadne ; but Ariadne could not 
be found. Minos went himself to her apartments, but 
he could find neither his daughter nor the slave- 
girl Thalia. Every chamber in the palace was .searched, 
and even the dungeons beneath were explored. The 
day departed, and the evjening came. Through all the 
city Minos sent word of his loss, and directed that every 
nook and corner should be explored. 

At length there came a whisper to the ear of the king 
that the princess had gone away in the Athenian ship. 
Some fishermen had seen a boat put off from that vessel, 
and come to the shore, and they were sure that when 
the boat returned two females went in it. Then Minos 
remembered how his daughter had gazed upon the At- 
tic hero when she saw him on the day of his arrival ; 
and he also remembered how she had been affected 
when news came that he had escaped from the Laby- 
rinth. Proof upon proof accumulated until there could 
be no longer a doubt. 


Theseus Makes a Discovery, 


117 


.Where was the Athenian ship ? 

She had been gone several hours, and was now far at 
sea. 

It was near midnight when Minos collected his warriors 
and ordered his ships to be got in readiness with all 
possible haste. He would pursue the treacherous Athe- 
nian, and put him to death, even though he had to land 
upon the shores of Hellas to do it. 

And the Egyptian monarch declared that he would 
also go, and bring back his promised bride. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THESEUS MAKES A DISCOVERY. 

Early in the morning of the fourth day the ship 
reached the Piraeus, and Theseus, anxious to see Clio 
and Cassander, and learn how it was with his mother, 
left Ariadne in the care of the Athenian maidens, 
intending to proceed at once to Athens. He told Glaucis 
that he would return in a few hours ; or if they desired 
to enter the city before his return he would meet them 
on the way. 

“ Only a few hours,” he said to Ariadne, as he held 
her to his bosom. “ I know not if my mother lives, for 
she was sick when I left her ; and I would learn of her 
before we are swallowed up in the general commotion 
which must follow the intelligence of our arrival. You 
will be safe in the companionship of these fair dam- 
sels.” 

“ I would not detain you from the holy mission,” 
replied Ariadne ; “ but you must not be long away. I 
shall feel the weight of suspense until you return.” ^ 


Theseus. 


ii8 


“ Not long, not long,'’ said Theseus. “ May the good 
spirits care for thee until I come back.” 

He kissed her, and turned away ; and the princess, 
when she saw him pass from the ship, heaved a deep 
sigh and rested her head upon Thalia’s bosom. 

” Oh, the gods grant that no evil befall my beloved !” 

“ How can evil befall him in his native land ?" 
returned Thalia. “ Will not the people bless and protect 
him ?” 

“ But there may be bad men in Athens. There may 
be selfish, envious men, who like not to see the love of 
the people bestowed upon others than themselves.” 

“ Hush, dear lady. Let not this first absence of your 
lover affect you thus.” 

‘‘ I am hopeful, Thalia ; but — Oh, I should die if harm 
befall him.” 

At that point Andromeda and her companions came 
forward, and under the influence of their glad voices 
Ariadne in a measure recovered her lost spirits ; but 
she could not feel wholly easy. A shadow had fallen 
across her way, and she could not entirely dissipate it. 

Theseus had selected a course which was quite natural 
under the circumstances. As the sun was not up when 
the anchor was cast, he believed that he could go to the 
city, and return, before the people would begin to col- 
lect at the landing. He had a great anxiety to see 
Orestes, the silversmith, in order that he might learn 
something of Clio and Cassander, and he wished to see 
those two men that he might learn of his mother. He 
wished to know if his mother were well, and he further- 
more wished to ask her concerning his father. If it were 
a possible thing he would know the secret of his birth 
before he presented himself to the people of Athens in 
the new character which his success at Crete had given 
him. 


/ 


Theseus Makes a Discovery. 


119 


The first beams of day were shooting up over the 
mountains of Kalybea as our hero placed his foot upon 
the shore, and in such haste was he that he did not stop 
to notice a score of men who came towards the boat 
from an old building that stood near the water. Had 
he remained within hearing he would have discovered 
that these men approached the boat, and that they con- 
versed with the oarsmen ; and he would have heard 
them ask questions concerning the youths and maidens 
who had been sent to the labyrinth of Crete ; and he 
would have heard that the oarsmen told all that they 
knew of the wonderful deliverance that had been 
wrought. Then he might have heard the strangers ask 
very particularly after the youth who had volunteered 
to go to Crete as one of the victims ; and he would have 
seen the oarsmen point towards Athens, and reply that 
the hero had but just gone, alone and on foot in that 
direction. 

But Theseus heard nothing of all this. He pursued 
his course with rapid step, thinking only of reaching 
the city and returning as soon as possible. He had 
arrived at a point where the road made an abrupt turn 
around a thicket of olive trees, when a rustling near at 
hand attracted his attention ; he would have kept on his 
way, however, without stopping, had he not been brought 
to a stand by a body of men directly before him. 

“ Gentlemen,” he said, not yet dreaming of evil, “ I 
am in haste. Detain me not.” 

“ You will answer us a question, will you not ?” re- 
turned one of the intruders, 

“ Speak quickly.” 

“ Give us time, fair sir. You are from the harbor ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ You came on a ship from Crete t" 

“ Yes.” 


I 20 


Theseus. 


“ And you landed this morning ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Your name is Theseus ?” 

Our hero did not answer this question as he had an- 
swered the others. He saw that the men before him 
were all armed, and it appeared to him that they were 
purposely blocking up his way. He ran his eye over 
the company, and concluded that there must be a score 
of them. 

“ Sirs, how is this ?” he demanded. “ Why do you 
stop me and question me thus ?” 

“Because,” replied the foremost stranger, “ we have 
business with thee.” 

“ What business ?” 

“ You are our prisoner !” 

“ By whose order ?” 

“The King’s.” 

“ That cannot be,” said Theseus, promptly. “ The 
King cannot know that I have come.” 

“ But, nevertheless, he planned for the event of your 
coming, and we were directed to arrest you.” 

“ Look ye, sirs ; I am in no mood now for surrender- 
ing my liberty. Before this day is passed I will, of my 
own accord, present myself to King .^geus ; but I must 
not be detained at this time. I pray you, therefore, let 
me pass.” 

Instead of obeying this request the men gathered 
more closely about the youth, and some of those in the 
rear drew their swords. This latter movement opened 
Theseus’ eyes. He saw very plainly that their intent 
was a hostile one, and his mind was not long wavering. 
If he allowed himself to be taken he could not return to 
Ariadne as he had promised, and he might not find 
Clio and Cassander. 

“ Sirs,” he cried, taking a step back, “ I have told you 


Theseus Makes a Discovery. 121 


that I would present myself before King- ^geus this 
very day ; but I cannot go with you. Now let me 
pass." 

“ Your stubbornness hath sealed your own doom !’’ 
exclaimed the leader of the intruders ; and as he spoke 
he unsheathed his sword. ^ 

“ Now, by the bolts of Jove,” shouted Theseus, “ your 
intent is plain enough. If you wish to tempt me to 
combat, I will not be long in clearing my path.” 

The leader laughed scornfully, and with half a 
dozen men upon either hand, ready to support him, he 
advanced to the charge. Our hero had his father’s 
sword in his hand, and with one sweep he severed the 
head of the leading foeman from its body. Upon this 
the others uttered loud shouts of vengeance, and 
pressed forward ’ but they found, to their cost, that 
they had no ordinary foe to deal with. Not only did 
the sharp sword of the hero fly like lightning through 
the air, but the movements of his body were so wonder- 
ful that no stroke could reach him. He kept his antag- 
onists all before him, and when they began to fall back 
he pressed on after them. They fell like tall grain 
before the hook of the reaper, and finally, when there 
were about six of them left, the living ones turned and 
fled into the wood. * 

Theseus, as though he had but swept a mote from his 
path, sheathed his sword, and kept on his way, and 
when he reached Athens, the sun had not been two 
hours from its rest. He remembered the location of 
the dwelling where he had met the silversmith, and 
without difficulty he found it again. He knocked upon 
the gate, and very soon his summons was answered by 
a servant who led him in and conducted him to one of 
the upper chambers. In a little while the master of 


122 


Theseus. 


the house appeared who, when he saw Theseus standing* 
alive before him, was struck with astonishment. 

“ How — did you not go to Crete ?” 

“ Yes, good Orestes ; I went to Crete, and I performed 
the work I had planned. I slew the twelve lions, and 
led my companions out from the labyrinth.” 

By my lifd^ this is most wonderful. And did Minos 
set you all free ?” 

“ Yes, — he kept his promise faithfully,” 

“ When did you arrive in the harbor ?” 

“ Not three hours ago.” 

“ And have you come hither without attracting atten- 
tion ? Have you met no one ?” 

“ I did meet a few men on the road — a score or so — 
who attempted to stop me. They even drew their 
swords upon me ; but I quickly cut my way through.” 

“ Do you mean that you overcame them ?” 

“ Certainly. Why, my good Orestes, they were but 
as children in my hands. You see, I could not stop. I 
wished to find you, that I might learn something of 
Clio and Cassander ; and you will pardon me if 1 am 
even now in haste. Do you know where my two faith- 
ful followers are ?” 

The old man seemed for a few moments to be beside 
himself with wonder and astonishment ; and a close ob- 
server might have detected that he was somewhat nerv- 
ous and disconcerted. Finally, however, the cloud passed 
from his brow, and he laid his hand upon the youth’s 
arm. 

” My son, your two friends are in my house. They 
have been here since you went away. I will call them. 
But — you have not broken your fast this morning.” 

Theseus shook his head. 

“ While I am finding your friends I will send a ser- 
vant with refreshment.” 


Thesetis Makes a Discovery. 


123 


“ My brisk walk, and the exercise by the way, have 
sharpened my appetite some, I confess,” said our hero, 
with a smile. “ But I need not much. A little dried 
fruit will be sufficient.” 

“ Then rest you here, and I will find Clio and Cassan- 
der forthwith.” 

The old man went away, and ere long afterwards a 
servant entered bearing a silver tray, upon which were 
a measure of dried dates and some bread. The dates 
were large, and of a delicate flavor — much richer than 
usual — and our hero ate heartily of them. When he 
had finished his meal he arose and went to the window, 
and when he had gazed awhile it seemed to him as 
though the men and women in the distant street were 
changing their shapes. Presently his vision became so 
disturbed that objects appeared floating in circles be- 
fore him, and he was conscious of a dizzy sensation. 
He started back, and walked several times to and fro 
across the apartment ; but he could not shake off the 
incubus. Finally he sat down, and pressed his hands 
upon his brow, and he was startled upon finding the 
moisture thereon cold and dripping. What could it 
mean ? Was he in danger of a prostrating malady ? No, 
no, — it must not be. Again he started up, and once 
more paced up and down the room ; but very shortly 
his step grew uncertain, and he sank upon a stool near 
the door. A weight which he could not resist rested 
upon his lids, and thick darkness was gathering about 
him. With one convulsive effort he sprang from the 
seat, but only to sink helpless upon the floor. He mur- 
mured the name of Ariadne, and while the murmur still 
echoed upon the air his senses entirely left him. 

When Theseus again opened his eyes with sense he 
found himself in a damp, dark place, with no ray of 
light to guide his vision ; and the echo of his voice, as 


124 


Theseus. 


he called for help, told him that he was surrounded by 
solid walls. 

“ Oh, heavens !” he cried, clasping his hands upon his 
bosom, “ has this been a dream ! Am I still in Minos’ 
dungeon ? No, no — it cannot be. The events have been 
too real. Oh, no — I feel the sweet kiss of Ariadne still 
upon my lips.” 

When he first tried to arise his limbs trembled be- 
neath the weight of his body, but at length he stood 
upright, and was able to grope his way about. It was 
a dungeon, with walls of stone, uneven and damp, and 
with a floor that seemed to be of solid rock. The space 
was narrow, and the only article of furniture was a 
wooden pallet covered with mouldy straw. Again 
he sat down, and, as his thoughts came more freely, 
and his perception grew more keen and grasping, he 
pondered long and deeply upon the circumstances that, 
one after the other, came to his mind. Light began to 
dawn upon him ; and as his comprehension awoke to 
the significance of the circumstances that had attended 
him thus far since his entrance into Attica, he won- 
dered how he could have been so blind. 

“ I see it now,” he soliloquized. “ I have enemies in 
Athens — enemies who seek my destruction, I must 
have been recognized at Daphne. The warriors who 
met me between Daphne and Athens were sent to in- 
tercept me ; and the horseman who escaped my club 
on that occasion brought intelligence to the city. The 
rascal who met us with the basket of fruit upon his arm 
was one of them. Ah — I remember now how he eyed 
me, and how he overdid his part. He was sent to lead 
me into a trap. And this old man who plays the char- 
acter of Orestes— he is not Orestes at all. He was very 
ready to see me depart for Crete, for he felt sure that 
he would never see me again^ But I have come back, 


Theseus Makes a Discovery. 


i25 


and he must now be rid of me by other means. He 
' gives me food containing a powerful somnific prepara- 
I tion, and thus overcomes my strength that I may be 
conveyed to this deep dungeon. And what next? 
Must I starve here, or will they come to slay me ? Oh, 
if they would only come I should be content, 
j “ Ariadne, where art thou ? Oh, and must my will be 
I stayed by these walls ! Cannot the gods give me help in 
i this hour of need ?” 

He sank down upon the mouldering straw ; and as he 
j closed his eyes in thought of Ariadne he once more fell 
j asleep, for the power of the opiate was not yet dissipated. 

When he next awoke, and had entirely recovered his 
senses, he felt something of his old strength in his limbs. 
And his dungeon was not so dark as before. There 
was a faint glimmer of light reflected from the wet 
points of the rock, and upon looking upward he discov- 
ered a small opening, in one corner of the roof, not 
! larger than a man’s hand. After a little time he was 
i able to distinguish the angles and surfaces of the walls 
j quite plainly ; and he also saw the door, which he found 
! to be made of iron. He went to it, and pressed against 
it with his hands, but it gave no signs of yielding. 

“ I shall not die here,” he said to himself. “ If they 
come to slay me, I will crush them ; and if they think 
of starving me here, I will find some means of breaking 
down that door. Oh, if I had the club of Periphetes 
now !” 

As he spoke his eye chanced to rest upon the frame 
of the low pallet. He went to it, and found two of the 
pieces to be stout and strong. With a quick movement 
he scattered the straw over the floor, and then tore the 
frame asunder. The side pieces were of oak, and very 
heavy, and having secured one of these he turned once 
more to the door, and sought to find its weakest 


Theseus. 


126 


part. At length he gathered his energies for the trial, n 
and at the first blow the very rocks seemed to shake. li 
Again and again he hurled his club against the barrien a 
and finally the stout iron began to give. When he saw i 
this he gave new power to the onset, and ere long tha 
heavy door went down, and our hero sprang forth into ' 
the passage beyond. He was deliberating upon which ] 
direction he should take, when a glare of light broke ill 1 
upon the far darkness, and the sound of human voicej 
was borne to his ear. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE COBBLER. 

The sun rose higher and higher above the Hymettic 
hills, and the day was advancing, while the inmates of: 
the Athenian ship waited anxiously for the return of j 
their heroic deliverer, Ariadne became alarmed, for 
she felt sure that her lover would not, of his own accord, 
remain away so long. She sought Glaucis, and asked 
him to go in search of Theseus ; but he shook his head. 
He said he had promised the hero that he would not 
leave the ship until he returned. 

“ But,” urged the princess, “ how long will you wait ? 
Theseus should have returned ere this. Oh, I fear some 
evil has befallen him.” 

Glaucis was not himself entirely at ease concerning 
his leader ; but he wished to hide his thoughts from 
Ariadne. ' ' 

“ We will not tarry beyond noon,” he said. • “ When 
the shadows of our masts point to the north, if he heiS 
not then come, we will go.” 


The Cobbler. 


127 


Ariadne returned to the cabin, where the Athenian 
maidens sought to comfort her. Andromeda had 
learned to love the gentle princess of Crete as a sister, 
and she whispered all the words of hope she could com- 
mand. 

By and by there was a commotion on deck, and 
Ariadne, thinking that Theseus might have returned, 
hastened up, Thalia and Andromeda following close 
behind her. 

“ It is not our chieftain,” said Glaucis, as he met the 
inquiring glance of the princess. “ Our attention was 
attracted by yonder ships which are entering the har- 
1 bor.” 

The maidens looked in the direction pointed out, and 
a quick cry broke from Thalia’s lips : 

“ They are Cretan ships ; and in advance comes the 
barge of the king !” 

“ It is my father’s ship !” exclaimed Ariadne, turning 
pale. But in a moment more the blood returned to her 
face, and with a quick movement she caught Glaucis by 
the arm. 

“ We must stay here no longer, good Glaucis. My 
father must not find me. Oh, if I am overtaken now, 
misery is mine. Listen to me, I pray you. Let us 
hasten away as swiftly as possible. Where is Andro- 
meda ?” 

“ I am here, my sister.” 

“ You will go with me, Andromeda.’ You will lead 
me to a place of safety ?” 

” I will serre you with my life,” replied the Athenian 
maiden. “If Glaucis will lead us to the city, I can 
[easily find for you a resting-place secure from intru- 
Ision.” ^ 

[ Among these youths and maidens of Athens there 
(was not one who would not have given up even life 


128 


Theseus. 


itself for the benefit of their heroic deliverer ; and 
since they knew that their hero not only loved Ariadne, 
but that she had furnished him with the means of their 
deliverance, they were equally ready to serve her. 
In the absence of Theseus, Glaucis assumed control of 
affairs, and he at once ordered the boats to be manned, 
and with as little delay as possible they put off for the 
shore, where horses were easily obtained, and ere long 
the party were on their way to Athens, which place 
they reached without further interruption than the 
questioning of those whom they met. As they entered 
the city they were quickly surrounded by an eager, • 
curious multitude, and while they were trying to break 
through this friendly barrier a messenger arrived 
from the royal palace. 

.^geus. King of Athens, was an old man, and totter- 
ing. He had once been bold and strong, but excessive 
labor, and much disappointment, had brought on dis- 
ease ; and, at the age of four-score, he was weak and 
palsied. He was by nature a just and upright man, but 
of late years he had grown jealous and fearful, and, 
surrounded, as he was, by designing, plotting, unscru- 
pulous courtiers, his moods were apt to be, at times, of a 
dangerous kind. And there was another power at work 
for evil over the mind of ^geus. He had, in his old age, 
married Media, the sorceress. This woman, beautiful 
and corrupt, had been separated from Jason, and had 
been forced to flee from Corinth. She stopped at 
Athens, where, by her arts, she captivated the old king, 
and persuaded him to make her his wife. 

On the morning in question ^geus received early 
intelligence of the arrival of the ship from Crete, and in 
a few houi's afterwards he was informed that the four- 
teen youths and maidens had come back. At first he 
was unwilling to believe this ; but the assurance was 


The Cobbler. 


129 


made more strong, and when he could no longer doubt, 
he directed that the returned ones should be sent to 
him as soon as possible. 

The king’s messenger arrived, as we have seen, and 
delivered his errand, whereupon Glaucis turned to his 
companions and informed them that he would lead the 
way to the royal palace. Ariadne hastened forward, 
and was upon the point of speaking with Glaucis, when 
Andromeda drew her back. 

“ What would you do, lady ?” 

“ I must not go to the palace,” replied the princess, 
in alarm. “ My father will make hi's first inquiry of 
.^geus, and if I am there, I am lost.” 

“ But,” said Andromeda, ” you cannot go away alone.” 

“ Glaucis will allow you to go with me ?” 

“ Of course he would ; but do you not see the danger 
of such a movement ? The king will miss me, and he 
will ask where I am. Glaucis cannot tell a lie, so he 
will be forced to reply that he suffered me to depart 
from him. Then the king must know” why I went, 
which would bring you into the question. But, dear 
lady, if we slip away unobserved, Glaucis will have no 
explanations to make. He must simply say that Andro- 
meda is gone, but how”, when or where, he knows not.” 

Ariadne at once saw the force of her friend’s reason- 
ing, and allowed herself to be led back to the rear of 
the procession where she and Thalia remained together. 
By and by they reached a point where a narrow way, 
with an arched entrance opened to the left, and here 
Andromeda touched the princess upon the arm. 

“ Follow me quickly and quietly,” she said. “ Keep 
your mantle over your face, and stop to answer no 
questions.” 

The crowd was so dense about the procession, and 
so much noise was being made, that the slipping away 


130 


Theseus. 


41 


of the three females was not noticed. When they had L 
once gained the narrow street Andromeda hastened on^ t 
until she was sure that she had got beyond the notice. ■ 
of the crowd, and then she allowed Ariadne to come up \ 
by her side. i \ 

“ I might take you to my own house,” she said ; “ but j i 
I hardly think that would be safe. It may be that the j 
king will send for me, and if he does his messenger^; 
must not find you with me. In a quiet part of the city 
there lives an old cobbler, who, from the good my | 
father hath done him in times past, ow'es us much grati- j 
tude. He is an honest, kind-hearted man, and I know | 
he will serve us. His wife is as good as he, and will j 
be to you a friend. I think we will seek his abode.” 

“ I will go to the old cobbler’s,” returned Ariadne ; j 
“ but you must not remain with me. You must go forth I 
and find Theseus ; for what is safety to me if he be in ! 
danger.” | 

“ Trust me, my sister, to do all I can. As soon as I 
have seen you in a place of safety I will seek my com- 
panions. If you think that you alone are interested in 
the welfare of the hero, you are mistaken. Let me 
a.ssure you that Glaucis and the other youths of Athens, 
who have been saved from the lions and labyrinth of 
Minos, will not rest until they have found their pre- 
server.” 

Thus conversing Andromeda led the way to that part 
of the city which lay at the foot of the hill of Mars, and 
at length she stopped before an open stall, where a cob- 
bler was busy upon his bench. He was an old man, of 
small frame, with a sparkling grey eye, and with full, 
flushed lips, about which lurked signs of extreme good 
nature. 

“Good Andros,” spoke Andromeda, “ I have come to 
thee for help.” 


The Cobbler. 


\ 


131 


“ Ha ! by the gods, I see a ghost !” cried the cobbler, 
dropping the sandal upon which he was at work, and 
clapping his hands together. 

“ No, no, Andros ; I am no ghost.” 

“ But thou art not Andromeda.” 

” I am.” 

“ Now may the griffins fly away with me if thou art 
not telling me falsehood. Did I not behold the gentle 
Andromeda embark on board the fatal ship for Crete. 
Away, vile sorceress. Tempt me not.” 

“ Good Andros,” said the Greek maiden, smiling, in 
spite of her anxiety, at the quaintness of the old man’s 
manner, didst ever hear of two giants that once inhab- 
ited the Corinthian isthmus T' 

“ Aye, that I have, fair sorceress. They were Pro- 
crustes, the Stretcher — so called because he stretched 
his victims on an iron bedstead ; and Periphetes, of the 
iron club. But you cannot frighten me in that way, vile 
enchantress ; for both the monsters are dead.” 

“ Who slew them ?” 

“ Ah, there’s the mystery, false woman. They were 
slain by a valiant hero whom nobody knows.” 

“ There you are mistaken, old Andros. The valiant 
hero is known, thou thick-headed cobbler.” 

“ Who knows him, abominable wretch ?” 

” I know him, thou miserable, hen-pecked, ill-shapen 
vagabond.” 

“ Ha ! by the terrible thunders of immortal Jove, if 
thou callest me hen-pecked again. I’ll — I’ll — belabor 
thee with my leathern strap. Get thee gone, thou ly- 
ing, misleading, grace-forsaken woman.” 

‘‘ Tut, tut, good Andros ; listen to me. I am Andro- 
meda, and I will tell thee how I came here ; but first 
lead us away from the street.” 

“ By my life,” said the cobbler, looking sharply up 


132 


Theseus. 


/ 


into the maiden’s face, “ when you spit out those foul 
names upon me you did in truth remind me of Andro- 
meda ; but not a foot do you put inside of my dwelling 
until you have told me, if you be Andromeda, how you 
came here.” 

The maiden knew the old man well enough to know 
that he would have his own way. 

“ Did you not hear,” she replied, “ that a young man 
named Theseus, volunteered to be one of the seven 
youths for the tribute to the King of Crete ?” 

“Yes, fair enchantress, I heard of that.” 

“ Know, then, good Andros, that the young man was 
none other than the hero who slew the two monsters of 
the Corinthian isthmus. He went with us to Crete — 
went into the labyrinth — he slew all the lions with his 
own hand — and then led us forth in safety from the 
wonderful place. Now, Andros, in the name of the love 
thou didst once bear my father, I pray thee give us en- 
trance to thy house.” 

“ Why, thou blessed, beauteous, lovely child !” cried 
the cobbler, starting forward and extending his soiled 
hands. “ I know thee now for Andromeda. But who 
are these 

“ They are two friends for whom I would bespeak 
your kindness. If you serve them you will never re- 
gret it.” 

“ Well, come in — come in ; and we’ll see what can be 
done.” 

Thus speaking, Andros led the way through his stall 
to a small gate which opened into a circular court. 
This court formed the centre of his dwelling, the dif- 
ferent apartments opening from it as rooms open from 
a winding corridor. The apartment to which he con- 
ducted his guests was the largest and most airy one he 
possessed, and here he found his wife sitting. The wife 


The Cobbler. 


133 


was larger than the husband ; but the habitual smile of 
good-nature upon her round face clearly indicated that 
the smaller spouse had no occasion to fear her. 

“ Zoe, Zoe,” cried the cobbler, as he entered the room, 
“a miracle! A miracle ! See!” 

Zoe recognized Andromeda, and hastened to embrace 
her. She could not mistake that face ; and, unlike her 
husband, she gave the benefit of truth to her own 
senses, resolved to seek an explanation afterward. And 
that explanation she soon received, for as soon as they 
ihad all become seated Andromeda told the whole story, 
[from beginning to end, save such parts as related to the 
princess. When she had concluded both Andros and 
Zoe were filled with wonder and astonishment. They 
could not find words to express their admiration of the 
hero who had performed such prodigious deeds of valor 
and prowess. 

“ When shall we see him ?” asked Andros. 

“ Aye — when shall we see him ?” echoed Zoe. 

“ Ah,” answered Andromeda, shaking her head, “ there 
is the trouble. Our deliverer left us this morning, and we 
have not seen him since. He promised us that he would 
speedily return ; but he did not, and we fear that some 
evil hath befallen him. This lady was under his protec- 
tion, and it is to find a safe retreat for her, until Theseus 
can be found, that I have come hither.” 

Upon this the cobbler and his wife turned their atten- 
tion upon Ariadne, and it was quickly evident that they 
were favorably impressed. They not only saw that she 
was exceedingly beautiful, but they fancied that she 
was mild and gentle. 

“ By the girdle of Venus,” cried Andros, who had 
something of an eye for beauty, ” there should be no 
more worrying about the boasted loveliness of the 
princess of Crete.” 


134 


Theseus. 


“ Ah — do you know her ?” quickly demanded Andro- 1 
meda. 

“Who — the princess of Crete ? No — not I ; but I’ve 
heard of her. Have not half the kings of Hellas tried 
in vain to win her ?” 

Andromeda whispered with the princess, and it was 
quickly arranged between them that the whole truth 
should be told ; for Ariadne had assured herself that 
both the old man and^his wife were to be trusted. 

“ Good Andros,” said Andromeda, “ I shall begin to 
think you are the necromancer. Listen to me, and 
I will tell you a part of our story which I have thus far, 
omitted : Theseus could not have slain the lions with- 
out help ; nor could he have led us out from that dread 
labyrinth without a guide. While he was in the dun- 
geon beneath the palace of Minos, the princess Ariadne 
visited him and gave him a sword with which to slay 
the lions, and a clue of silk with which to anark his 
course in the labyrinth. The princess loved him, 
and he loved the princess ; but a cruel mandate of her 
father threatened to make her miserable forever. King 
Minos was about to bestow her hand upon Serapis, 
King of Egypt, who was almost as old as her father, 
besides being ugly and dark. In this extremity she 
fled from her father’s palace, and came to Athens with 
Theseus. This forenoon her father’s ships entered the 
harbor Piraeus, and the princess knew that they had 
come for her. What could she do ? Theseus was away, 
and she knew no one in Athens. She appealed to me, 
and I promised to serve her. But whither should I take 
her ? I could not take her to my own home, because 
search might be made there ; so I brought her hither. 
Good Andros — good Zoe — I know you will befriend 
her.” 

At the conclusion of this speech the host and his 


wi: 

h 

tbi 

DO 

ba 

IDI 

yo 

be 

sb 

ii 

ai 


ti 

a: 

a 

tl 

( 

II 

s 

t 


The Cobbler, 


135 


i wife were about as much astonished as before ; but 
Zoe was not without sense. She arose and approached 
the princess, and would have sunk upon her knees had 
not the maiden prevented her. 

“ Stop, good mother,” cried Ariadne, taking Zoe’s 
I hand. “ You must not regard me as a princess. Let 
; me be to you as a daughter. Give me your love and 
your care, and let me and my faithful Thalia remain 
, here in quiet safety. Let us remain here until they 
j shall find Theseus, and then he will come for me.” 

“ My dear child,” returned Zoe, full of sympathy and 
j kindness, “ you shall remain here as long as you wish ; 

I and we will do all we can to serve and to save you.” 

“ Aye,” exclaimed Andros, smiting his begrimmed 
hands together ; “ she shall stay here as long as she 
pleases ; and if that ugly king of Egypt dares to show 
his face in my court. I’ll — I’ll — strangle him !” 

Andromeda had not been mistaken in her calcula- 
tions touching the kindness of the cobbler and his wife, 
and when she had thus seen Ariadne provided for she 
arose to depart. 

“ Be assured,” she said, as she held the princess by 
the hand, “ that you shall receive intelligence as soon as 
we learn anything of Theseus. Do not faint, my sister. 
Oh, the gods will not suffer evil to triumph over so 
noble a youth. And remember, too, that when our 
story is made public he will have friends everywhere.” 

When the Athenian maiden had gone Ariadne re- 
turned to the side of Zoe, and tried to fix in her mind a 
foundation for hope. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

THREE KINGS IN COUNCIL. 

Media, the sorceress, and wife of the king, when she 
knew that the Athenian youths and maidens had re- 
turned in safety from Crete and were on their way to 
the royal palace, joined her husband in the great coun- 
cil chamber and sat by his side on the throne. She did 
not seem so happy in view of the return of the re- 
deemed ones as did others. She was restless and nerv- 
ous as could be seen by the compres.sion of her thin 
lips and the twitching of her fingers ; and when the ar- 
rival of the procession was announced she turned pale ; 
but it was only for a moment. As the youths and 
maidens were led into the chamber she scanned them 
carefully, and when she saw that there were but six of 
the former she breathed more freely. She did not 
notice then the absence of one of the maidens. 

The procession had been a long time in reaching the 
palace, for the populace had so blocked up the streets 
that it moved on its way with difficulty ; and even the 
royal residence was not closed against the joyous throng. 
It was known that the living tribute had returned and 
that the terrible burden had been removed forevermore; 
but it was not known how all this had been bought 
about, and this knowledge the people were anxious to 
[136J 


Three Kings in Council. 


137 


obtain ; so they filled the court of the palace, and many 
of them made their way to the council-chamber. 

“How is this?” demanded ^geus, when he had 
counted the number of those who stood before him. “ I 
see but twelve of you where there should be fourteen. 
I thought you had all returned.” 

“ Sire,” replied Glaucis, “ of the youths our deliverer 
is missing, and of the maidens I see that Andromeda is 
gone. It may be that the latter got pushed back by the 
crowd ; but of the other I must tell you anon.” 

“ Enough of that,” cried the King, impatiently. “ Tell 
us the story of your deliverance.” 

“ Sire, you were aware that a stranger youth went out 
with us of his own accord, in hopes that he might free 
Athens from the fatal burden of this tribute.” 

“ Yes, — I know all that.” 

“ Then, sire, if you will lend your ear I will relate to 
you the circumstances just as they transpired.” 

And from this point Glaucis went on with the narra- 
tive, giving a true and faithful account of all that had 
befallen them since they left Athens. He told how 
Theseus had managed to secrete a short stout sword 
under his garments, and how he had provided himself 
with a clue of silken thread to mark the route by which 
they were led into the labyrinth ; but of the princess 
Ariadne he spoke not a word. 

While Glaucis was describing how the hero slew the 
ferocious lions, the maiden Andromeda entered the 
council-chamber, and took her place with her com- 
panions. The king saw her, but so interested was he 
in the story that he would not interrupt it. The narra- 
;or cast a quick glance upon the returned maiden, and 
vhen he saw the light dance in her bright eyes he knew 
;hat the princess was safe, for the present, at least. 

Glaucis went on, painting the slaying of the lions in 


138 


Theseus. 


most vivid language, and when he had finally told of 
the leading of the devoted band forth from the laby- 
rinth, and of their gathering together and kneeling 
beneath the stars to offer up their thanks to the gods, 
the people could restrain their enthusiasm no longer. 
Shouts of joy awoke the air, and shook the very walls 
of the palace. 

But where was the heroic deliverer ? 

At this question every tongue was silent, and all 
hung once more upon the words of Glaucis. 

“ Sire,” resumed the youth, “ our deliverer came with- 
us to the Piraeus, and was with us when we cast our 
anchor. When he went away he left two dear friends 
in this city whom he was very anxious to see, and as 
soon as our sails were furled he set off alone, promising 
to be back in three hours ; but he did not return, and 
we know not where he is.” 

At this point there was heard the sound of disturbance 
without, and presently afterwards a messenger came 
hurrying into the royal presence, who spoke as follows : 

“ Sire, Minos, King of Crete, and Serapis, King of 
Egypt, with many of their chief men, are in the court, 
and they demand audience of your majesty.” 

^Egeiis turned pale, for the intelligence shocked him. 
What could these two powerful monarchs want in 
Athens ? But he could not stop long to consider. He 
ordered the crowd to stand back, and then directed his 
chief officers to go and conduct the royal visitors to the 
council-chamber. In a little while Minos and Serapis 
arrived at the principal entrance, where .^geus met 
them with uncovered head. Seats of ivory, inlaid with 
gold, were placed upon the right hand of the throne 
where they were requested to sit. 

^geus was more deeply concerned than he would have 
cared to have known by those who stood around ; but 


Three Kings in Council. 


139 


Media whispered to him that he was forgetting himself 
and under her directions he acted. 

“ My brother of Crete,” he said, “ this visit, so unex- 
pected, has taken me entirely by surprise ; but never- 
theless, I bid you welcome to Athens.” • 

Minos bowed his head in token of his acceptance of 
the welcome, and then arose to his feet. 

“ .^geus, I have come hither after my daughter.” 

“ Thy daughter !” repeated the Athenian King in sur- 
prise. 

“ Yes — the princess Ariadne. But I will explain.” 
Minos cast his eyes over the youths and maidens who 
j stood together not far away, and then continued : 
i “ I think I see before me some of those youths and 
I damsels who were sent unto me for tribute.” 

“ Yes,” replied .<®geus, “ you see them there.” 

“ But I do not see them all. I do not see the man who 
wrought the deliverance. Where is he ?” 

.^geus called upon Glaucis, who stepped forward and 
related over again the circumstances attending the 
I departure of Theseus from the ship. 

“ And did he go alone t" demanded Minos. 

” Entirely so, sire.” 

“ Was there no female went with him 
' “ No, sire.” 

“ Then where is the princess Ariadne ?” 

“ Indeed, sire, 1 cannot tell thee.” 

“ My brother,” interrupted ^geus, “ your words puz- 
I zle me. I pray you explain to me this matter con- 
j cerning your daughter." 

[ “Thus, then, it is,” answered Minos, speaking hur- 
j riedly, and with some passion : “ The youth Theseus, 
I who wrought the wonderful deliverance of himself and 
i companions, was of fair aspect and exceeding comeliness. 
I My daughter saw him, and was enamored, and during 


140 Theseus. 


the night on which your ship sailed she fled from my|' 
palace ; and I know that she sailed with your people. , 
She was affianced to our brother, the King of Egypt, | 
and was to have been shortly married. I have now 
come to demand my daughter, and also to demand the' 
man who stole her away. Give them to me, and all may., 
be well.” I 

.^geus trembled again, but a few words from his wife' 
gave proper directions to his thoughts. -f 

“ Glaucis,” he said, “ what explanation can you give ] 
of this matter ? Did Ariadne sail with you from Crete ?”j|j 
“ Sire,” returned the youth promptly, “ I will tell youy 
all that I know. While we lay at anchor in the harbor' 
of the Cretan capital two maidens came off and joined* 

us. One was Ariadne, and the other was her attendant.^ 

41 

Theseus took them under his own care, and as he was 
our master we did not question him.” ' 

“ Did they land with you ?” : 

“ They did. Sire.” 

“ Where are they now ?” 

“ In truth I cannot tell. I know that they came to* 
the city with us ; but in the crowd they slipped away*, 
without my knowledge, and I did not miss them until 
we arrived at your palace.” 

At this point Media again whispered to the King. He. 
nodded to his wife, and then turning to Glaucis, he re- ■ 
sumed : ' 

“Did Ariadne remain with Theseus during yoiirJ 
passage ?” Ij 

“ No, sire ; she was with our maidens.” I 

“ Ah — then perhaps our fair Andromeda can enlighten! 
us. Let her step forth.” ■ 

The damsel thus designated took her place by thej 
side of Glaucis. She trembled a little when her name! 


Three Kings in Council, 14 1 


had first been announced, but she was calm and col- 
lected when she stood before the King, 

“ Andromeda, answer me truly : where is the prin- 
cess Ariadne ?” 

“ Indeed, sire, I cannot tell.” 

“ Beware ! Did you not leave the procession while on 
your way hither ?” 

” Yes, sire ; and it is a wonder to me that all the rest 
did not do the same. I got separated from my compan- 
ions, but rejoined them as soon as I could.” 

“ Stop,” interrupted Minos, arising from his seat. “ I 
think the truth is plain. Theseus left the ship at early 
dawn, and came to the city. He did not intend to re- 
turn. He had planned with my daughter that she 
should meet him here. To his arms she must have 
flown. Find Theseus and you will find Ariadne.” 

“ Aye,” cried .^Egeus, “ that must be the truth. 
Andromeda, where is Theseus ?” 

♦ 

“ Sire,” replied the maiden, so solemnly that none 
could doubt her, “ I call on all the gods to witness that 
I know nothing of the whereabouts of our heroic deliv- 
erer. I have not seen him since he left the ship at early 
dawn, nor have I received any intelligence of him.” 

.^geus shook his head dubiously. 

“ Of one thing we are assured,” said Serapis, speaking 
for the first time : “ The princess came to Athens with 

these youths and maidens, and she must now be some- 
where within the realm. She is mine, by right of gift 
and affiance, and I demand that she be restored tome.” 

“ And I,” added Minos, ” demand the person of the 
abductor. When I relinquished the tribute I did it 
because of the prowess of Theseus ; and if this same 
Theseus yield not his life to me, then is my promise 
void, and Athens shall yet pay the yearly tribute." 

^dSgeus paled, and shook as though with the palsy ; 


142 


Theseus. 


but Media again came to his aid, and after she had 
whispered a few words into his ear, he said : 

“ My beloved brother, I know you have just cause of 
complaint, but you shall not complain because of my 
unwillingness to render to you what is your due. The 
body of Theseus you shall have, if I am forced to search 
to the ends of the earth. Will that satisfy you ?” 

“ I would prefer to have him alive,” replied Minos ; 
“ but if that cannot be I will take him dead. Render 
up my daughter, and give to me the body of her abduc- 
tor, and there shall be peace between us !” 

“ It shall be done.” 

“ It must be done.” 

“ The gods grant that your daughter may be returned 
to you in safety.” 

“ And may the gods grant,” added Minos,, solemnly, 
“ that this fair realm be not ravaged and laid waste.” 

Once more Media whispered with .^geus, and when 
she had done, the old king turned to the Cretan monarch, 
and said : 

“ I swear to you, by a solemn oath, that the youth 
Theseus shall be given up to you as soon as he is found; 
and I furthermore swear that the princess Ariadne shall 
be searched for at once. And now, my royal brothers, 
if you will follow my chamberlain, he will lead you to 
an apartment where a repast is already served for you.” 

Both the visiting kings were hungry, and they were 
not long in moving after the chamberlain — they and 
their followers. 

“ Media,” cried the king, as soon as Minos and his 
companions had left the council chamber, “ this is a ter- 
rible thing. If we find not the princess and her abduc- 
tor, we may be sure that not only Athens, but all Africa, 
will be ravaged and laid waste. We could not stand be- 


Three Kmgs in Council. 


H3 


fore the hosts of Crete, and what shall we do against 
both Crete and Egypt ?” 

“ Fear not,” replied Media, with masculine energy. 
“ The princess can surely be found ; and I doubt not 
that Theseus will be given to us. Let these youths and 
maidens find the lady Ariadne. Let it be their duty so 
to do. Their lives have once been forfeit. Let them 
live on condition that they bring the princess of Crete 
: to your palace, safe and sound.” 

! “By the crown of Jove !” cried ^geus, starting up, 

} and turning toward the returned victims, “ so it shall 
i be. Glaucis to you 1 give charge of this matter, 
j You may direct your male companions, and An- 
I dromeda may direct the damsels. Bring to me the 
princess of Crete, alive and unharmed, and you may 
live ; but if you fail, your lives shall pay the forfeit. 
Go, now, and make all possible haste, for the penalty 
shall not be long delayed. I give you until the setting 
of to-morrow’s sun.” 

Glaucis knew that the king meant just what he said, 
and he left the council-chamber with a heavy heart. 
His companions followed him with downcast looks, and 
when they reached the court they stopped to delib- 
erate. 

“ Let us go to some quiet place,” said Andromeda, 
“ where we can talk without being overheard.” 

“ My dwelling is nearest at hand,” replied Glaucis. 
“ Let us go thither.” 

So to the dwelling of Glaucis they went, where his 
aged mother wept with joy upon the bosom of her re- 
turned son. When the first transports were passed, and 
the mother had fairly assured herself that her beloved 
child was safe, Glaucis sent her away to prepare refresh- 
ment for his friends. 

“ Now,” he said, as the door was closed behind his 


144 


Theseus. 


mother, “ what shall we do ?” and as he spoke he looked 
inquiringly upon Andromeda. 

“ We must find Theseus,” that maiden replied. 

“ But why find him ?” asked the youth, Serpho. 

“ Aye,” echoed Pyrgos, another of the youths, “ why 
find Theseus ? It is the finding of the princess that 
alone can save our lives.” 

“ I know,” replied Andromeda. “ But could we find 
Theseus, he might help us out of the difficulty.” 

“Aye,” added Glaucis, “ if we could find him he might 
do wonders,” 

“ But,” suggested Serpho, “ while we search for him 
we are neglecting the princess.” 

“ My brothers,” spoke Andromeda, after a short pause, 
“you must go forth' this very hour and commence the 
search for our noble deliverer. We owe him our very 
lives, and we must not forget him. There are yet some 
hours left of this day. Search while the day lasts, and 
if necessary search through the night. Call upon your 
friends whom you can trust, and let them help you. 
Labor diligently until to-morrow’s sun is near its setting, 
and if then Theseus be not found I will conduct you to 
the resting-place of the princess.” 

“ How ?” cried Pyrgos. “ Do you know where she is ?” 

“ Yes. I led her away from the crowd myself, and 
conducted her to a place of safety. Theseus is not with 
her, and she knows not where he is.” 

“ It will be very cruel to deliver the princess up,” said 
one of the sympathizing maidens. 

“ If we find Theseus,” replied Andromeda, “ we may 
not have to do it. But we must work.” 

At this juncture the mother of Glaucis returned, and 
when the party had partaken of such refreshment as she 
had prepared, they took counsel further together and 
then separated. 


Three Kmgs in Council. 


145 


Andromeda hastened away to her home, where she 
assumed the garb of a peasant girl, and having browned 
her face and hands she set forth in quest of information. 
She met several of her companions on the way, but they 
did not recognize her. She went first to the gate by 
which she knew Theseus had entered, and after much 
inquiry she found a boy who had seen a man, answering 
the description she gave of the hero, enter the city early 
in the morning, and he pointed out to her the street into 
which the man had turned. With this information she 
went on to the street designated, where she instituted 
new inquiries ; and at length she had the good fortune 
to find a pastry cook who had seen the youth of whom 
she was in search. 

“ I noticed him,” said the cook, “ because he stopped 
over against my stall as though he was not quite sure 
of his way ; and I noticed the curious sword he wore, 
with a hilt of twisted gold and silver, and an enormous 
carbuncle on the pommel.” 

“ That was my brother, good sir. Which way did he 
go r 

With the information she derived from the pastry 
cook Andromeda was led to another street ; and as the 
last rays of the setting sun faded from the walls of the 
Acropolis she had reached the house which she believed 
Theseus had entered. Then she hastened away, and 
after much searching she found Glaucis and Serpho. 

“ Good Glaucis,” she said, I am sure I have found the 
house which Theseus entered this morning. Thus 
much have I done, and you must do the rest. Do you 
know where Polydius lives ?” 

” Certainly.” 

“ Into his dwelling I am confident our hero went.” 

“ Do you mean the brother of the king ?” 

” Yes.” 


146 


Theseus. 


“ But what could Theseus Viave had to do with him ?” 

“ That I cannot tell. It is for you to ascertain." 

“By the rock of Delphi," cried Glaucis, clapping his 
hands, “ I begin to suspect that evil hath befallen our 
deliverer. This Polydius is a scheming man, and he 
fears every one who promises to outshine his ambitious 
sons. But why should Theseus have gone to him ? I 
am puzzled.” 

“ You will watch that house, Glaucis ?" 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then find your companions, and be at the work ; 
and while you are laboring for Theseus, I will go and 
.see how fares it with Ariadne.” 


CHAPTER XV. 

FROM TROUBLE TO TROUBLE. 

We left Theseus just emerged from the dungeon, he 
having battered down the iron door with one of the 
oaken beams of his bedstead. The beam had been 
somewhat splintered by its hard usage, but it would 
still serve as a very formidable weapon in the hands of 
one who could wield it. The light which glared in 
upon the noisome place grew more bright, and the 
voices became more distinct. Close at hand our hero 
saw a small recess, which appeared to have been made 
for the reception of rubbish, and into this he glided, de- 
termined to discover whether the newcomers were 
friends or foes before he revealed himself. Presently 
he beheld six men, all armed with gleaming swords, 
and two of them carrying torches. They were stout, 


From Trouble to Trouble. 


147 


hard-featured fellows, and wore the garb of Athenian 
soldiers. 

Hark ! They still converse freely, and are now so 
near that the youth hears them plainly. , 

“ It’s to be a quick job, and a sure one,” said one of 
the torch-bearers. 

“ Aye, and it will be an easy one,” returned another. 
“ By the sword of Mars, I think our master must rate 
this rascal very high if he thinks that six of us are 
necessary to so simple a work. He says the prisoner is 
unarmed.” 

“ He is wholly stripped of his steel,” said a third, 
“for I helped to bring him down here. I’d give a di- 
drachm to know who he is.” 

“ Ye gods !” cried the first speaker, “ suppose it 
should be the man about whom so much noise is being 
made.” 

“ What man mean you ?” 

“ I mean the Attic hero, Theseus.” 

“Bah ! What think ye our master could want of his 
life. No, no — it must be some unfortunate fellow who 
has crossed Polydius’ track. I pity him ; but I cannot 
help. him. The most I can do for him is to pray that 
the dark boatman will take him safely over the river, 
and land him carefully upon the shores of the blessed 
isles.” 

“ Hush !” spoke the leading torch-bearer, lowering 
his voice. “ Here we are, close by the door of his 
dungeon. Be ready, you who have no torches, and 
spring in as soon as the way is opened. Do not let the 
poor fellow suffer. Put an end to him as quickly 
as possible. Perhaps he is still asleep. If he is, he will 
never wake again on this side of the shades. Ha ! 
What is this ! Ye gods ! the door has been torn down !” 

“ Mercy, O heaven !” ejaculated another, when he 


148 


Theseus. 


saw the iron door battered from its hinges. Some god 
hath done this. What, save the hammer of Vulcan, 
could have so crushed this ponderous iron ?” 

Theseus had heard enough ; for he fancied that he 
had discovered that these fellows were not upon a 
mission particularly friendly. He gave them credit for 
their prayers in his behalf, and in return for that much 
of good he felt willing to pray the same for them. 

“ Is he in the dungeon ?” asked one of the ruffians 
who stood in the rear. 

“ No,” replied the leader. 

“ Then where can he have gone to ? We found the 
upper door securely locked ?” 

, “ He is here !” pronounced our hero, stepping forth 

into the light. 

The soldiers started back as from a ghost ; but pres- 
ently they recovered themselves ; and when they saw 
that the prisoner had no arms, they grew courageous. 
They saw that he leaned upon something which looked 
like a beam of wood ; but they did not fear that. At 
length the leader spoke : 

“ We are very glad to find that you have not gone far 
away. Perhaps you have heard some of our conversa- 
tion ?” 

“ Yes, — I have.” 

“ And perhaps you have learned what our errand is ?” 

“ My ears are good, fair sirs, and I understand your 
business perfectly. And now listen to me : I give you 
your choice. You may turn about and lead me in safety 
to the open street, or you may attack me with your 
swords. If you lead me forth from this place, I will 
thank you, and reward you when I have opportunity. 
If you attack me, I shall kill you.” 

The soldiers laughed heartily at what they considered 
a piece of impudent pleasantry. 


From Trouble to Trouble. 


149 


“ Will you kill us all at once, or will you drop us one 
at a time ?” asked the leader derisively, 

“ Make your choice quickly,” cried Theseus ; “ for I 
have no disposition to wait here. If you would know 
how I can dispose of you the means of that knowledge 
are within your reach. Turn towards the upper world, 
or strike, as you please.” 

“ You have heard us speak our purpose, and we have 
not spoken falsely. We will pray for the rest of* your 
spirit after you are dead.” 

• Thus speaking the leader of the assassins raised his 
sword, and motioned for his companions to advance. 
Theseus took a few steps back, so as to reach a place 
* where he could have a free sweep for his club, and then 
he spoke his last word of warning : 

“ Hold, sirs ! If you do this at the command of an- 
other, know that you are contemplating a grievous sin 
against an innocent man. Turn from me and you may 
live. If you attack me you die. I* have no more to 
say.” 

Three of the soldiers laughed at this ; but the other 
three seemed to feel that the man before them might 
be able to accomplish what he had threatened. The 
presence of that battered iron door was a marvel to 
them. However, they had no choice. Their leader 
ordered them on, and they dared not disobey. 

“ Die with thy vaunting upon thy lips !” pronounced 
the foremost ruffian. 

His sword was aimed for a thrust ; but in a moment 
more he was stretched lifeless upon, the pavement. 
That ponderous beam of oak, so heavy and so solid, 
seemed but as a whip of straw in the grasp of the hero. 
Like a flash of light it swept through the air, and three 
of the soldiers went down beneath its fatal blows before 
they could fairly see what manner of weapon was used 


Theseus. 


150 


against them. Two more quickly followed, stricken 
dead ere they could bring their swords into play ; and 
thus, of the murderous crew, only one was left, and he 
the rear torch-bearer. This man was one of those who 
had seen nothing to laugh at in the threat of the pris- 
oner, and when he beheld his companions stretched life- 
less before him, he sank down upon his knees and 
begged for mercy. 

“ T^ake your torch ! take your torch !” cried Theseus, 
seeing that the fellow had dropped his light in his terror. 

The soldier picked up the torch before it had become 
extinguished, and again begged that his life might be 
spared. 

“ Look ye, sir,” returned our hero, resting the end of 
his club upon the pavement, “ I am that Theseus of 
whom I heard one of your companions speak. It was I 
who slew the monsters Procrustes and Periphetes, and 
it was I who slew the twelve lions in the labyrinth of 
Crete. What is your name ?” 

“ My name is Hermos,” replied the man, trembling at 
every joint. 

“ Shall I add your body to the bloody pile ?” 

“ Oh, good Theseus, spare me ! I came not hither of 
my own accord. My master sent me, and I could not 
refuse.” 

“ On one condition. Master Hermos, I will give you 
your life. Answer me such questions as I .shall ask, and 
respond to such demands as I may make, and your life 
shall be spared.” 

“ I will answer truly ; I will do anything you wish.” 

“ Then get up, and give me your sword. Fear not ; 
for if I meant thee harm, I should strike thee where 
thou kneelest.” 

The man arose to his feet, and handed his sword to 
Theseus. 


Prom I'rotcble to Trouble. 


151 


“ Now, Hermos, calm yourself, and prepare to answer 
me. In the first place, what’s the hour ?” 

“ It is the second hour of the first watch, sir.” 

“ Then the night has but just set in ?” 

“ It has not been dark more than an hour.” 

“ Very well. Now for the second question. Where am 
I?” 

“ You are in the vault beneath the house of Polydius.” 

“ And who is Polydius ?” • 

“ There is but one Polydius in Athens, sir, and he is 
the brother of the king.” 

“ Was it in this house that I ate the food containing 
the powder that deprived me of sense ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Was it Polydius who gave me the food ?" 

“ Yes.” 

“ Do you know Orestes, the silversmith ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Does he live near here ?” 

“ No, sir. His dwelling is in another part of the city.” 

“ Now, sir, answer me this : Why has Polydius thus 
sought my life ?” 

“ He informed us that it was by order of the king,” 
replied the soldier, who had become quite calm and com- 
posed under the influence of the hero’s gentle manner. 
“ This morning two kings arrived in Athens — Minos, 
of Crete, and Serapis, of Egypt. Minos sought his 
daughter, whom he said Theseus had taken away ; and 
he also demanded the life of the abductor, which' ^geus 
readily promised.” 

“ Ah ! — and is the princess Ariadne with her father ?” 
asked our hero, excitedly. 

“ I think not, sir. She had not been found when the 
sun went down.” 

Theseus breathed more freely. 


152 


Theseus. 


“ Where are the youths and maidens who returned 
with me from Crete ?"’ 

“ They are searching for the princess. They are to 
deliver her up before the setting of to-morrow’s sun, or 
suffer death,” 

A quick shudder passed through the youth’s frame 
and for a moment he tightened his hold upon the club. 

“ Hermos,” he .said, after a short pause, “ when Poly- 
dius told you that he sought my life because of the 
order of the king, he told you that which was false. Can 
you not think of some other cause for his deadly 
intent ?” 

The soldier shook his head, 

“ Never mind,” pursued Theseus. “ I shall find out 
in good time. And now, sir, I must ask after two 
friends whom I left here before I went to Crete. They 
were Clio and Cassander. Can you tell me where they 
are ?” 

The man hesitated, 

“ Will you answer me ?” 

“ Yes,’'sir. The men of whom you speak are not far 
from where we now stand. If you will follow me I will 
lead you to their dungeon.” 

Have they been here ever since I went to Crete 

“ Yes.” 

“ Why were they thus seized ?” 

“ I cannot tell, sir, unless it was that you might be 
the more readily secured.” 

” I think you have hit the truth. But come — lead me 
to them.” 

Hermos turned, bearing his torch before him, and 
having traversed several winding passages he stopped 
before an iron door like that which Theseus had demol- 
shed. The bolts were withdrawn, and when the door 
was opened our hero beheld two men, covered with 


From Trouble to Trouble. 


^53 


filth, who held their hands over their eyes to shut out 
the sudden glare of light. 

“ Oh, in mercy’s name,” cried one of them, “ either 
set us ftee from this place, or put an end to our lives !” 

Theseus at first wondered why they did not start up 
and attack those who had opened the door ; but he 
presently saw that they were chained to the floor. 

“ Clio ! — Cassander ! — Oh, my poor brothers, how have 
you suffered !” 

The two prisoners started to their feet, and when 
they beheld their beloved master they wept with joy. 
He pressed them in turn to his bosom, and then broke 
the shackles from their legs. 

“ Are you strong enough to walk ?” he asked. 

“ Yes,” replied Clio. “ The sight of our master, safe 
and sound, gives us strength. We have suffered much 
in body ; but we have suffered more in anxiety for 
thee,” 

“ Ah, my brothers, had I known where you were, I 
should not have left you thus to suffer ; but the villain 
who brought this burden upon you also laid a grievous 
burden upon me.” 

“ Was it Orestes who wronged us ?” 

“ No, no. We were cruelly deceived. We have not 
yet seen Orestes. But let us not remain here to talk. 
When we reach the outer world we will tell as many 
stories as we please. Come, Hermos, lead on, and let 
us get quickly out from this dismal place.” 

The soldier moved on with his torch, and, as the 
others followed, Theseus could not restrain a question 
touching his mother, but his friends could give him no 
information. 

“ We entirely fainted away within half an hour after 
you left us, my master, and when we came to our senses 
we found ourselves in the dungeon from which you 


154 


Theseus. 


have just released us. There must have been some 
mighty sleeping-powder in the wine we drank.” 

” Yes,” said Theseus, “ I know something of the man- 
ner of the hoary wretch who rules this place. But we 
may live to requite him.” 

“ The gods grant it,” ejaculated Clio and Cassandra 
in concert. 

The soldier led the way without faltering, until he 
reached the court, which the three friends at once 
recognized as the place they had before visited. The 
stars were gleaming overhead, and from the position 
of the constellations Theseus knew that it was early 
in the evening. Here the guide stopped, and asked 
which way they would go. 

“ I would first see Polydius,” replied Theseus. 

“ You cannot see him now,” said Hermos, “ for he 
is at the royal palace.” 

“ Then lead the way into his dwelling. I must find 
my sword and buckler ; and we must also obtain some 
fitting garments for my two men.” 

Hermos dared not refuse, so he did as directed. 
Theseus found his sword and shield, and he found clean 
garments for Clio and Cassander ; and thus prepared 
he went forth again into the court, where he left the 
guide to explain matters to his master as he saw fit. If 
Theseus had been calculatingly wise, he would have 
locked Hermos up .somewhere ; but such an idea did 
not present itself. He had gained his faithful compan- 
ions, and his trusty sword was once more at his side, and 
thus accompanied and armed, he knew no such thing as 
fear. Hermos opened the gate for him, and as he 
passed out he fancied that he saw two men dodge be- 
hind the angle of the wall. He had advanced into the 
street, and was in the act of speaking with Clio, when 
he received an abrupt order to halt. • 


From Trouble to Trouble. 


155 


“ Ha ! Is it Theseus ?” 

“ What ! — Glaucis ! Is it thou ? And thou, too, 
Serpho ?” 

“ Yes, noble Theseus. We gained trace of thee thus 
far, and here we had determined to watch. But did 
not Polydius mean to hold thee ?” 

“Not long, good Glaucis,” replied our hero, lightly. 
“ He thinks 1 am free by this time, for he sent six stout 
men to do the deed.” 

“ The deed 

“ Aye — to set me free from the cares and turmoils of 
this wicked life ; but I was not quite prepared for the 
favor, so I slew five of the fellows, and engaged the 
sixth to guide me to the upper regions of earth. And 
on my way I found these two friends — Clio and Cas- 
sander — you have heard me speak of them.” 

After mutual congratulations had passed between 
those who had thus met for the first time, Theseus asked 
what had been done at the royal palace. 

“ Alas !” replied Glaucis, “ we are all lost ! Your 
life is demanded, and -^Egeus has given it up.” 

“ Explain. Let me hear the whole story.” 

So Glaucis gave an account of all that had transpired, 
from the moment of their discovering the approach of 
the Cretan ships up to the discovery last made by An- 
dromeda. 

“ From this it appears that I am doomed, at all 
events,” said Theseus. 

“ Yes.” 

“ And you are doomed if you do not produce the prin- 
cess ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Good Glaucis, I must see Ariadne.” 

“ I know not where she is.” 

“ But Andromeda knows ?” 


Theseus. 


156 


“ Yes.” 

“ Then let us seek her.” 

“ She may be with the princess now ; but we will go 
to her dwelling and see,” 

At this point Clio suggested the propriety of looking 
after Orestes ; but Theseus would not listen. He must 
see Ariadne first. 

“ Let us seek Andromeda now,” he said, “ and when 
I have conferred with the princess, then will I seek the 
true Orestes. Qome, Glaucis, you must be our guide.” 

They had traversed some half-dozen streets, and were 
just entering a square beyond which lay the street in 
which Andromeda lived, when their steps were arrested 
by the appearance o^ a large body of soldiers directly 
before them. They would have turned and fled, but 
before they could do so they discovered that another 
detachment of troops was coming up the very street 
they had left, 

“ Ye gods !” gasped Serpho, almost stupefied with 
terror, “ what shall we do ? The king’s troops are upon 
us, and we are surrounded !” 

At this juncture men bearing torches came into the 
square, and one of the king’s officers recognized Glau- 
cis, upon which orders were given for the troops to 
march that way. 

“ Alas !” uttered Glaucis, laying his trembling hand 
upon our hero’s arm, “ this is a trap I had not foreseen. 
What can we do ?” 

“We must let them come, and take our chances,” re- 
plied Theseus, coolly. “ While I have life in my body, 
and this good sword in my hand, I have little to fear. 
But, I may not be recognized, Ha ! who is that ? By 
the gods, it is Hermos, whom I left in the court of Poly- 
dius’ house ! And thus he repays me for sparing his life. 
The fellow has made e2?cellent use of his legs.” 


1 he Snares Thickenmg. 


157 


It was indeed Hermos, who had hurried by a short 
route to acquaint his master with what had been done ; 
but on liis way he had met the troops, and to them he 
told his story. Theseus had recognized him, and he, at 
the same moment, had recognized Theseus. 

“ Ha ! Behold the culprit !” shouted Hermos, point- 
ing with his finger towards our hero. “ There is the 
man for whom the king hath offered two talents of 
silver !” 

“ Easy, easy,” said Theseus, as Glaucis grasped him 
by the arm. “ I have not yet lost my faith in the good- 
nes ^of the gods.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE SNARES THICKENING. 

Theseus grasped his sword firmly, and set his buckler 
of triple-tempered steel before him ; but he did not 
brace himself as was his wont for fierce encounter. 

“ Glaucis,” he said, when he saw that the troops must 
soon be upon him, “ I like not this. I cannot turn my 
sword against these Athenians. They are of our own 
blood, and do but obey the will of our king. We must 
avoid them. There is a gate upon our left. We can 
lose nothing by trying it.” 

The gate to which he alluded was close at hand, and 
set in a high brick wall. He sprang towards it and 
raised the latch, and it opened to his touch. His com- 
panions had heard his words, and when they saw him 
pass through the gate-way they speedily followed him. 
Theseus’ first thought, when he found his friends by his 
side, was to secure the passage behind him. The torches 


158 


Theseus. 


outside gave light enough by reflection to enable him 
to distinguish objects about him, and one of the first 
things that attracted his attention was a flight of stone 
steps leading up to the door of a house. One of these 
— an enormous block of hewn granite — he lifted from 
its place, and braced it against the gate in such a man- 
ner that no mortal power from without could open the 
passage without breaking the gate in pieces. And he 
was not a moment too soon, for hardly had he dropped 
the upper end of the rock against the stout framework 
when the leaders of the troops were demanding admit- 
tance. 

Theseus promptly led the way across the court or yard 
in which he found himself, and coming to a gate in the 
rear, he opened it, and, with his companions, passed out 
into a narrow and deserted street. Glaucis at once 
assumed the part of guide, as he said he was familiar 
with the locality; and with the approbation of Theseus 
conducted them to the dwelling of a friend of his, Hip- 
polus by name and a mason by trade, for whose discre- 
tion and fidelity Glaucis said he would vouch with abso- 
lute certainty. They found Hippolus at home, and 
received a hearty welcome to his abode. Glaucis told 
the sturdy mason who Theseus and his friends were, 
and then (leaving Theseus to tell the story of his won- 
derful adventures to Clio, Cassander and the host, while 
they all refreshed themselves with homely fare), he and 
Serpho left in search of Andromeda. By the time 
Theseus had concluded his narrative, Glaucis returned 
with Andromeda, who at once conducted Theseus to the 
old cobbler’s house where Ariadne was still concealed. 

The meeting of the lovers was rapturous, and they 
spent nearly the whole night in sweet converse. At 
last Ariadne retired, and Theseus, too, sought repose. 
Late the next morning Clio came to him, with a dis- 


The Snares Thickening. 


159 


turbed air, and said he had a message from Glaucis, and 
that message was that Theseus should instantly flee, 
with Ariadne, from Athens, else their doom would soon 
be sealed. On being interrogated, Clio refused to say 
aught concerning the reason of this message ; but 
Theseus seeing there were matters of importance con- 
nected with it, ordered his follower to tell him the whole 
truth, in such a tone and manner that Clio did not dare 
to refuse. The facts were these ; Glaucis, and all the 
other youths, and the maidens, whom The.seus had res- 
cued from the Cretan Labyrinth, had been arrested and 
cast into prison, and would be put to death the next 
morning unless their deliverer should be found and 
given up to Minos by that time ; and they had made 
Clio solemnly promise not to tell Theseus these facts, 
lest his noble devotion should impel him to sacrifice 
himself in their behalf, 

Theseus at once resolved to deliver himself up, and 
calling Ariadne, tenderly stated the situation of affairs 
and his determination, to her. She turned deadly pale, 
and there was a mighty struggle in her bosom ; but 
she was equal to the grand emergency and yielded to 
her heroic lover’s will. After taking a tender leave of 
each other, Theseus departed on his sublime mission, 
Ariadne calling upon all the gods to bless and aid him. 

Naxos was chief of the royal troops, and to that offi- 
cer was Theseus directed to deliver himself. 

Now this Naxos was uncle to Glaucis, and when he 
saw Theseus come to offer himself a second time for 
the redemption of the youths and maidens, his heart 
went forth in love and admiration to the heroic youth, 
and he could not help shedding tears when he thought 
of the cruel fate that awaited him, and at Theseus’ 
request, our hero was permitted to retain his arms ; and 
in this condition he was conducted away to the prison. 


i6o 


Theseus. 


by the chief, where a double iron door was closed upon 
him. 

After this Naxos repaired to the royal apartment, 
where he found the three kings together, with some of 
their principal attendants ; and when he had told what 
had happened, all were struck with astonishment. 

“ How say you, Naxos,” cried .^Egeus ; “ did he give 
himself up voluntarily ?” 

“ He did, sire.” 

” By the gods, it seems a pity to slay so noble a 
youth !” 

” Ah, my brother,” demanded Minos, “ do you relent ?” 

“ No, no, Minos. It shall be as I have promised. The 
life of Theseus is yours. Take it when you will.” 

“ I will have my daughter first. She shall see him 
die !” 

Ht * * ♦ * * ' 

When the prison doors were opened which had been 
closed upon Glaucis and his companions, and they were 
led forth into the light, they did not experience joy or 
satisfaction. When they knew that Theseus had volun- 
tarily given himself up for their second redemption 
they breathed his name as they would have breathed 
the name of a god. 

But they were not yet free. They might go forth 
from the prison, and from the palace ; but if the prin- 
cess of Crete were not delivered up before the setting of 
the sun the fatal doom awaited them. 

Media, the queen, was not idle during all this time. 
Her perceptions were quick, and it needed not the aid 
of sorcery to assure her that Andromeda knew where 
the princess of Crete had found shelter. So, when she 
left the council of the kings, she called to her aid servants 
whom she could trust, and set them upon the tracks of 
those whom she wished to follow. In this way she dis- 


The Siiares Thickenhig. i6i 

covered the abode of the old cobbler, and also the 
dwelling of Hippolus. She was in her closet when 
Theseus arrived at the palace to deliver himself up, and 
while the populace were thronging the court, one of 
her messengers appeared before her. 

“ Ah, Alpheus, what news bring you now ?” 

“ Ariadne is beneath the roof of the old cobbler,” said 
the messenger. “ I saw Theseus go in there last night, 
conducted by the maiden Andromeda ; and I saw him 
come forth this morning.” 

“ Enough, Alpheus. Let the house of that cobbler 
be searched ; and if the princess is found; see that she 
is brought at once to the palace. Here — take this ring 
— show it to the officers of the guard, and they will 
obey you.” 

Alpheus took the ring, and having placed it upon his 
finger, he bowed and withdrew. 

While these things were going on at the palace, 
Ariadne was suffering much beneath the roof of Andros. 
She paced unea.sily to and fro, or she sat alone, with 
her face buried in her hands, and her attendants could 
give her no comfort. She had heard from Andromeda’s 
lips words that troubled her — words that had not at first 
attracted her attention, but which, when recalled, came 
with weighty meaning. 

“ I know,” she said, in answer to some remaric of Clio s, 
that our dear friends will not be free from danger be- 
cause of the voluntary surrendering of Theseu.s. They 
will be held as hostages for my presence at the royal 
palace.” 

While they were conversing, there came the sound of 
disturbance from without, and presently the old cob- 
bler made his appearance in a state of intense excite- 
ment, and a heavy tramp was heard in the narrow 
court, and before he could have spoken many words, 


i 62 


Theseus. 


half a dozen men entered the apartment Clio sprang 
before the princess with his drawn sword in his hand, 
but she gently drew him back. 

“ Let us hear what these gentlemen have to say.” 

Clio wondered how the lady could be so calm. He 
moved back at her bidding, but he did not immediately 
sheathe his sword. 

Alpheus, the servant of Media, led the soldiers, and 
he it was who demanded to know if the princess of 
Crete was present. 

“ I am the daughter of Minos,” said our heroine. ‘ 
There was a quivering of her lips ; and the clasping of 
her hands showed that she was struggling to compose 
herself. 

“ Fair lady,” pursued Alpheus, speaking with more 
kindness than was his wont, for the transcendent love- 
liness of the damsel had made a deep impression upon 
him. “ I am commanded to conduct you to the royal 
palace. I pray you to bear in mind that I am but a 
servant of the king, and that this business is none of 
mine.” 

“ My lady,” spoke Clio, who had not yet put up his 
sword, “ my life is yours.” 

“ Good Clio, I fear me that your love cannot aid me. 
Let there be no violence.” Then turning to the officer, 
Ariadne continued : 

“ The noblest hero of Attica is already a prisoner at 
the palace ?” 

“ If you speak of Theseus, fair lady, he is.” 

“ And have the youths and maidens been set free ?” 

“ Only for the time. At the setting of this day’s sun 
they will all die if you be not delivered up ” 

Then I have no choice.” As the princess thus spoke 
she grew very pale, but she was firm and unshaken. 
“ I will accompany you to the royal palace, sir.” 


The Snares Thickening. 


163 


Clio turned away with a heavy groan, and Thalia 
wept with bitterest grief. But they could offer no 
advice no comfort. They knew that there were many 
soldiers without, and that forcible resistance would onlv 
make matters worse. 

Alpheus left the apartment to make preparations for 
conducting the princess, and when he returned he 
found her ready to accompany him. She bade the old 
cobbler and his wife an affectionate farewell, and then 
she turned to Clio, who stood apart, with his arms 
folded upon his bosom and his head bowed. 

“Sir,” she said, speaking to the officer, “ I crave the 
privilege of a few words with this man. He has been 
my friend and I may never see him again.” 

Alpheus bowed in token of consent, and Ariadne went 
to Clio’s side and laid her hand upon his arm. 

“Good Clio, I must go. Your master and myself 
must both be in the hands of our enemies. Yet I wot 
that there be many in Athens who would befriend us.” 

“ I am sure of it,” returned Clio, following the exam- 
ple of the lady, and speaking in a low tone. 

“ When I am gone you will be free. What will you 
do ?” 

The stout armorer gazed eagerly into Ariadne’s face, 
and, as he caught her meaning, his eyes gleamed with 
new light. 

“ I understand you,’’ he said, trembling beneath the 
weight of the thought. “ I am a native of Athens, and 
I know somewhat of the temper of the people. I will 
mingle with them, and find how far a sense of honor 
and justice can influence them.” 

After this the princess went with Alpheus into 
the court, where she found a covered chair ready 
for her. She and Thalia both took their seats, and 
when the curtains had been securely drawn, four stout 


164 


Theseus. 


men took the burden upon their shoulders and bore 
it away. 

When King- Minos received information that his 
daughter was coming, he directed that she should 
be brought directly to his presence, and that none 
others should come in with her. 

Minos was alone in an apartment which had been 
given up for his use, and when his daughter was led into 
his presence he gazed upon her with a look which would 
have stricken any other subject with mortal terror ; 
but Ariadne was not in the mood to be frightened. 
The greatest grief earth could yield would be hers in 
the loss of Theseus, so she feared nothing more that her 
father could do. She had called upon the gods for aid, 
and death had no terrors for her. She knew her father 
well enough to know that no prayers in her lover’s 
behalf would be availing ; but, on the contrary, that 
they would only add to the wrath already kindled against 
her ; so she bowed her head, resolved to .trust in heaven 
and to be prepared for the worst. 

“ Unnatural child,” said Minos, “ thy course hath been 
most unseemly and sinful ; and were it not that I had 
pledged thee to Serapis, thy life should pay the penalty 
of thy crime.” ' 

“ Sire,” replied the maiden, raising her head and gaz- 
ing calmly into her father’s face, “ thy words of threat 
have no new terrors for me. I would rather die than' 
be the wife of Serapis.” 

“ Then, by the gods,” cried the Cretan King, “ I shall 
have some satisfaction for thy wrong-doing, for the wife 
of Serapis thou shalt be before our ships leave this land. 

I have a sore punishment in store for thee, and when 
that hath been inflicted, the King of Egypt may take 
thee. I think thou lovest Theseu.s. Now mark me : 
This very day Theseus dies ! By all the laws of earth 


The Snares Thickening. 165 


his life is forfeited, and he shall lose it. Stop, — wait 
until you hear all. Not only shall he die, but you shall 
witness his death. I have spoken.” 

Ariadne had not been prepared for this, and so sud- 
denly and so heavily came the announcement upon her, 
that she swooned away, and sank senseless upon the 
pavement of the chamber. When she came to herself 
she was in a strange apartment, and strange faces were 
about her. She asked for Thalia, 

“ Thalia cannot come, ” replied one of the women. “ It 
is the order of the king, your father, that we attend 
you.” 

“Send Thalia to me.” 

“ Sweet lady, it cannot be. Make known your wants 
to us, and we will serve you,” 

The princess raised herself upon her elbow, and 
seemed for a time to be collecting her thoughts. 

“ What is the hour ?” she at length asked. 

She was informed that it was an hour past noon. 

“ Know ye anything concerning the youth, Glaucis, 
and his companions ?” 

“ Yes, lady. They have been set free to go whither 
they please.” 

“ The gods be thanked for that !” 

And with this ejaculation the princess sank back, and 
again closed her eyes. 

In the meantime Clio had not been idle. Assuming 
the garb of a peasant he went forth and found Cas- 
sander, and then made his way to the square in front of 
the royal palace, where he had the good fortune to 
meet Glaucis and his companions, as they came forth 
from their prison. To Glaucis Clio told his business, 
but the youth shook his head mournfully. 

“ Alas, good Clio, there are three kings against us.” 

“ I know,” said Clio : “ but suppose my master shoiild 


Theseus. 


1 66 


break from his guards, and gain the streets. Oh, you 
know not his prodigious strength. If he should do this, 
might not the people rise in his behalf ?” 

“ Ah, Clio, you are greatly at fault. Theseus will not 
break away from the guard — he will not try to escape. 
He knows that upon his disappearance we should be 
again holden. By his own noble spirit hath the cruel 
king a firm hold upon him.” 

Clio groaned aloud, for he felt the force of Glaucis’ 
reasoning. 

While they were thus conversing a messenger was 
seen coming from the direction of the southern gate in 
great haste, his face covered with sweat and his gar- 
ments with dust. 

“ Stop me not,” he said, as Glaucis hailed him. “ A 
ship has arrived from Troezene, and I go to carry intel- 
ligence to the prince Polydius.” 

“ From Troezene !” cried Clio, springing forward and 
seizing the messenger by the arm. “ What is the in- 
telligence ? Who is in the ship ?” 

” .^thra, the daughter of Pittheus, is in the ship.” 

“ And why convey you the intelligence to Polydius ?” 

“ Because Polydius hath been upon the watch for that 
lady’s coming, and has commanded that instant notice 
of her arrival should be given him.” 

As soon as the messenger had gone, Clio turned to 
Glaucis and his companions. 

“ Come, come,” he cried, “ here is work for us to do. 
This lady for whom the wicked prince is watching is 
the mother of Theseus. We must save her ; and in so 
doing we may save our noble master.” 



CHAPTER XVII. 

CONCLUSION. 

In the great audience-chamber of the royal palace of 
Athens were assembled the chief men of the kingdom, 
for .^geus had determined that the things which were 
to be done should be public. The queen would have 
dispensed with a portion of the assembly, but Minos 
and Serapis both desired that a goodly company should 
be present. Upon either side of the throne of the Athe- 
nian monarch had been erected two other thrones, upon 
one of which sat the king of Crete, while the king of 
Egypt occupied the other. Media had a seat behind her 
husband, where also sat the prince Polydms, The prin- 
cess Ariadne sa^ near her father ; and when the people 
gazed upon her, and saw how pale she was, and how 
like the shadow of death seemed the ghastly color of 
her marble brow, they were moved with exceeding 
pity. 

A large door in a far part of the chamber was opened, 
and Theseus, surrounded by a score of the royal guards, 
was conducted in. The multitude swayed to and fro in 
eager desire to see the hero ; and even the Athenian 
king, who had not yet beheld him, arose from his seat 
that he might gain a better view. 

“ By the crown of Jove,” he cried, when he saw the 
prisoner, “ my eyes never rested upon a youth so 
comely.” 

[167] 


Theseus. 


1 68 


“ Comely and evil,” said the queen, moving nearer to 
the side of her husband, 

“ Yet hath he done most gallant and noble deeds,” 
pursued ^geus. 

“ Which make his crimes the more weighty,” added 
Media. “ But, my sovereign lord, why hath he been 
permitted to come into the royal presence bearing arms 1 
Is such the custom of your officers ?” 

The king, whose eyes were none of the best, now no- 
ticed that the prisoner w'ore his sword, and thereupon 
he called to Naxos and demanded to know why such a 
thing had been suffered. 

“ Sire,” replied the chieftain, “ the youth gave himself 
up willingly, and as he begged that his sword might not 
be taken from him, I yielded. He knows that the lives 
of those companions whom he loves are held upon his 
obedience, and I was assured that he would do nothing 
to endanger them.” 

At this point the officer who had brought Theseus 
from the dungeon knelt before the king and reported 
that the prisoner was present. 

Then arose ./Egeus a second time, and when his herald 
had ordered silence, he made statement of the business 
in hand. He told the people how the prisoner had gone 
to Crete, and how he had stolen away the daughter of 
King Minos ; and this, he said, was a crime which must 
be punished wdth death. And then, putting on a royal 
bearing, he commanded that the prisoner should be led 
before him, 

Naxos led the youth forward to the foot of the throne. 

“ Sir,” spoke .^geus, “ your fate is well merited, and 
I must deliver thee to Minos ; but first I demand of 
thee thy sword, for I cannot turn thee over thus 
armed.” 

“ Sire,” replied Theseus, “ I willingly yield to thee 


Coiichision. 


169 


this blade ; but in so doing I have a request to 
make.” 

He had ungirded the sword from his loins as he spoke, 
and extended it toward the king, ^geus saw it and 
grasped it in both his hands ; and as he gazed upon it his 
frame shook as though stricken by a thunderbolt. 

“ This sword is not thine,” he said, scarcely able to 
speak plainly. 

“ It has been mine, sire.” 

“ Now, by all the powers of heaven, I swear that 
never were made but two swords like this. One of 
these was mine own. Where didst thou obtain this 
other one ?” 

“ That weapon, sire, was my father’s. If it was not, 
then my mother cruelly deceived me.” 

Suddenly the king pointed to the prisoner’s feet. 

“ Those golden sandals !” he said, in a hoarse whis- 
der, — “ Where got ye those ?” 

“ I found them with the sword, sire.” 

“ But where ? — where ? Answer me.” 

The queen placed her hand upon the king’s shoulder 
at this point, but he shook it rudely off. 

“ Speak ! Where got ye those things ?” 

“ I found them in the vale of Syros, sire, beneath a 
massive stone, which I was forced to lift from its place. 
My mother went thither with me to direct my steps. 
Two of my stoutest companions tried in vain to raise 
the stone ; but I was 'more fortunate. The weighty 
barrier could not resist the strength which I put forth.” 

“ Know ye the King of Troezene ?” demanded ^geus. 

“ Yes, sire. He is my grandfather. I was reared at 
his court.” 

“ And thy mother,” gasped the monarch. 

Before Theseus could answer a messenger entered 
the chamber in grfeat haste. 


170 


Theseus. 


“ How now ?” cried Polydius, starting- down from his 
place. 

But the king stopped him, and the messenger 
approached the throne, 

“ Sire,” spoke the newcomer, bending upon his knee, 
“ pardon me for this unseemly haste ; but a won- 
drous thing hath happened. Thy true queen is not 
dead. She is now in the palace, and would behold her 
husband and her son.” 

Media, with flashing eyes and contracted brow, sprang 
to the side of the king. 

“ How is this, my lord!” she exclaimed. “ Can you 
allow foul work of necromancy to move you from your 
purpose ? Away with this false messenger ; and give 
this lying prisoner over to Minos.” 

“ Aye, my royal brother,” cried Polydius, recovering 
slightly from the deathly stupor which had come upon 
him, “listen to the queen.” 

“ Listen to the queen,” echoed Polydius' six sons. 

“ Stand back !” ordered the prince, seizing the mes- 
senger. “ Let the doors be closed and suffer no one 
else to enter.” 

King Minos, unable to comprehend the meaning of all 
this, arose from his seat, 

“ .^geus,” he ’said, “ I demand the prisoner at your 
hands. Let his head be struck off, and then you may 
attend to this messen g 

“ Aye,” added Polydius, “ answer Minos first.” 

“ Answer Minos first,” repeated Media. 

The Athenian monarch stood for a few minutes like 
one bereft of sense ; but soon he gathered his feeble 
energies again, and would have tottered down from the 
throne to where the prisoner stood if his brother had 
not held him back, 

“ Fool !” hissed Polydius, “ would ye bring down upon 


ripw 


Conclusion. 


171 


I us all the combined wrath of the kings of Crete and 
! of Egypt ? Give over this prisoner, and thus fulfill thy 
, royal pledge.” 

“ Wait — wait one moment,” begged .<®geus. ” Let 
me see my queen.” 

“ Good lord, I am here,” said Media. 

” No, no — I mean ^thra. Where is she ?” 

“She comes,” answered Naxos, •who had failed to 
obey the order of Polydius touching the closing of the 
doors. 

And even while he spoke .^thra, the daughter of 
Pittheus, accompanied by Clio and Cassander, and by 
Glaucis and Serpho and Pyrgos, and by Andromeda and 
the other maidens, entered the chamber. The old king, 
when he saw her, sank back upon^his throne, and would 
have swooned from joy had not a sudden danger 
startled him. 

Polydius and his sons, with such followers as were in 
their interest, had drawn their swords ; and both Minos 
and Serapis, with their attendants, were also upon their 
feet and armed. 

Suddenly, as if inspired by more than mortal power, 
^geus sprang to his feet, and raised his sceptre aloft. 

“ Peace !” he ordered, in a tone such as he had been 
wont to use when younger and stronger. “ Most wick- 
edly have I been betrayed. Polydius, thou hast lie(^ to 
me. Thou didst swear to me that ^thra was dead. 
I Oh, how blind have I been! Theseus, thou art my 
son and my successor ; and to gain the throne when I 
jwas dead hath Polydius done much mischief. 

At this juncture Media hastened to the side of Minos 
and spoke a few hurried words in his ear, whereupon 
. the Cretan king started forward and demanded to be 
(heard. 

i « ./Egeus, and you, men of Athens,’ he cried, “ beware 


Theseus. 


1 72 


how you trifle. The life of yonder prisoner is mine, 
and I must have it. Otherwise destruction, dire and 
deadly, shall fall upon all this realm.” 

A moment ^geus hesitated and trembled ; but pres- 
ently the old inspiration came back. With a quick 
movement he descended from his throne, and taking 
the golden crown from his head, he placed it upon the 
head of Theseus.” • 

“ My son, upon thy head do I place the crown of Ath- 
ens, and into thy hand do I resign the sceptre. Thou 
art my son, and thou art henceforth king in my place.” 

“ He speaks the truth,” whispered a voice close by 
Theseus’ side ; and upon turning he beheld his mother. 
“ .^geus is thy father — he is my husband.” 

Theseus had not been taken entirely by surprise, for 
from the moment of his father’s recognition of the sword 
the truth had dawned upon him. As he felt the weight 
of the crown upon his brow, and grasped the sceptre in 
his hand, he knew that the royal place was his. Then 
came the assurance of his mother’s words ; and on the 
next instant he had mounted the throne. 

“ Men of Athens,” he cried, la5ung down the golden 
truncheon, and drawing his sword, “this bright blade, 
the first gift of my royal father, shall be my sceptre 
until Attica is free from trouble, and woe betide him 
wh^ dares tempt the weight of its stroke. Naxos, 
I command thee to seize the prince Polydius and all his 
family, and bear them to the dungeons where Glaucis 
and his companions have been held. Away with them, 
for their presence pollutes the air !” 

Polydius looked in vain for succor. Clio and Glaucis, 
with their companions, had done their work well 
among the soldiers and among the people ; and when 
the noble Theseus was crowned before them, they 
pressed forward to do him homage. Even those men 


Conclusion. 


173 


who had been in the service of the base prince joined 
the multitude ; so that when Polydius looked for help 
he found not a man to serve him. He was borne away 
— he and his sons — to the dungeons beneath the palace. 

When .Theseus turned to look for Media she was 
gone, and her attendants were sent to search for her. 

During all this time Minos and Serapis sat like men 
in a troubled dream. Their attendants were but few, 
and they dared not think of open resistance in that 
place. 

At length, when order had been restored, Theseus 
turned to the visiting kings. His bearing v/as majestic, 
and even Jove might have envied him that calm dignity 
of conscious power. 

“ King Minos,” he said, “ what demand hast thou now 
to make ?” 

“ Thus do I demand,” answered Minos ; “ Serapis and 
myself will sail from Athens, and my daughter with us, 
and the tribute of seven youths and seven maidens 
shall be paid yearly to me, as hath been done hereto- 
fore.” 

“ Listen now to me,” replied Theseus : “ Thyself and 
Serapis may depart when it pleaseth thee. Thy daugh- 
ter shall elect her own course. The tribute of life 
shall be paid to thee no more forever.” 

“ Then,” cried the Cretan monarch, “ Athens shall 
once more feel the curse of my legions in battle array !” 

“ But the princess must not be left behind,” exclaimed 
Serapis. 

“She shall not be,” responded Minos. 

Now for the first time since he had entered the cham- 
ber, Theseus turned and looked upon the royal maiden. 

“ Ariadne,” he said, “my heart is already thine, and 
my hand is pledged to thee ; and I now offer thee the 


174 


Theseus. 


right of a queen to my throne. As thy decision is so 
shall it be.” 

The princess, caring not for the thousand eyes that 
watched her movements, hastened to the side of the 
youthful king, and rested her head upon his bosom. 

“With thee let me live — with thee let me die ! Oli, 
send me not away !” 

Minos scowled, and unseemly words fell from his lips, 

“ Enough of this,” cried Theseus, when he saw that 
the Cretan King was beside himself with passion. 
“ Naxos, conduct our royal brothers to their own apart- 
ments, and there let them be held for a week and a day. 
At the end of that time they shall elect their own 
course.” 

“ How !” shouted Minos. “ Do you dare to imprison 
us ?” 

“ I shall hold both thee and Serapis for a week and a 
day. I have spoken, and so must it be.” 

Naxos moved to the place where stood the two kings, 
and asked them if they would accompany him. 

“ I go now,” said Minos ; “ but the day of vengeance 
shall come.” 

* » ♦ * » 

And now turned Theseus to embrace his parents,^and 
for a long time they spoke not for joy. 

^thra told him how she had been sick at Troezene, 
almost to death. 

.^Egeus told how he had been informed of her death, 
and how Media had gained control over him. 

And then it was understood how Polydius, scheming 
for the advancement of his sons, had acted a most vil- 
lainous part. He had known of the departure of 
Theseus from Troezene, and he set his emissaries to in- 
tercept and entrap him. By connivance with Media he 
had so completely gained control over the old king that 


Conclusion. 


175 


all avenues of entrance to the kingdom were held by 
him, and all intelligence passed through his hands. In 
this way had he kept from ^geus a knowledge of 
-^thra’s true condition, and he had furthermore planned 
upon the queen’s arrival, to intercept and imprison her. 

“ But,” said .^geus, “ the wicked man has been foiled, 
and joy is mine. Dear Theseus, it had been my pur- 
pose for many months before thy mother left me on her 
last visit to the court of Pittheus, to resign the sceptre 
into thy hands when thou couldst raise the stone 
beneath which I had placed my sword and sandals ; and 
though it might appear that my purpose came near 
being thwarted, yet I believe the gods have never for- 
saken thee. So to high heaven let our thanks ascend ; 
and let us remember, while we live, that to the powers 
immortal our chiefest homage is due.” 

Theseus would have conversed longer with his par- 
ents, but the populace was thronging the court of the 
palace, demanding to see the new sovereign who had 
done such wonderful deeds, and he was forced to go 
out upon the platform, but before he went he took 
Ariadne by the hand and led her to his mother. 

My mother,” he said, “ into thy keeping I give this 
maiden. I shall not sec her again for a week and a 
day. Fear not, sweet love,” he added, when he saw the 
princess tremble. “All shall yet be well.” 

And with this he went forth and showed himself to 
the people ; and when the evening star arose upon the 
city he went to the Temple of Minerva, and made suit- 
able offerings to the goddess. 

The story of the hero’s exploits upon the Corinthian 
Isthmus and in Crete had flown through all Attica, and 
all tongues were sounding the praises of the unknown 
benefactor ; but he was not to be unknown to them a 
great while. On the very night of his coronation mes- 


176 


Theseus. 


sengers, mounted upon swift horses, were sent over the 
land bearing the intelligence that the conqueror of Pro- 
' crustes and Periphetes was the son of ^geus, and now 
King of Athens. 

And the kings of Attica saw that the hour had come 
for the establishment of a new power in Greece ; for it 
had been foretold that out of the loius of ^geus should 
come forth a hero beneath whose sway all Attica 
should be joined ; and that thenceforth no foreign prince 
should prevail against him. They would not wait to be 
subdued by the Athenian king, so they came to Athens 
— they and their chief men — and swore allegiance to 
Theseus ; and before the week had passed they 
had gathered together all their warriors upon the plain 
without the city, that they might be inspected by their 
new sovereign. But these were not all. Pittheus came 
from Troezene, with a thousand armed men ; and five 
other kings of Argolis, with numerous followers, came 
to swell the ranks of the Attic hero. ' 

At the time appointed Theseus led Minos and wSerapis | 
forth upon the walls of his palace, and when they beheld 
the vast plain covered with armed men they were lost 
in astonishment. 

“ Minos,” spoke the Athenian, “ all the chiefs of At- 
tica have voluntarily become my subjects, and from be- 
yond the Sinus Saronicus six kings have come to offer 
me their allegiance and their swords. I bear thee no 
enmity ; but rather would I give thee my friendship. 
Give to me the hand of thy daughter, and henceforth 
let there be peace betwixt Crete and Athens.” 

This speech pleased not the King of Egypt ; but 
Minos saw and heard with different feelings. 

“ Where is my daughter?” he asked. , 

She is in my mother’s keeping. I Have not seen her , 


Co7iclusion, 


177 


for a week and a day, I have waited for thee to bestow 
her upon me,” 

Minos was sorry to disappoint Serapis, but his own 
interest, under these new circumstances, led him to 
choose the friendship of the youthful monarch, whose 
prowess had already become a wonder to the world. 

And that very evening Ariadne became the wife of 
Theseus ; and among the most honored of the guests 
were those youths and maidens who had borne the hero 
company in Crete. 

A week and a day had been spent in search after 
Media the sorceress ; but she could not be found in 
Athens. It turned out in the end, however, that she 
had found shelter on board one of the ships of Serapis ; 
and when that dusky monarch returned she used her 
arts to such good purpose that he gave her the place 
which he had meant for Ariadne, and bore her to Egypt 
as his queen. 

Polydius died in prison, unwept and unhonored. His 
six sons were liberated ; and seeing that the mighty 
power of Theseus entirely overshadowed them, they 
were content to rest upon such bounty as they could 
gain, yielding submission because they could do no 
better. 

***** 

“ Happy, happy Ariadne !” murmured the maiden 
Andromeda, as the youthful queen rested upon her arm. 

Theseus had just left them, leading his aged father 
by the hand. 

“ Aye,” answered Ariadne, her beautiful face radiant 
with joy ; “ through much tribulation the prize hath 
been won. Oh, it is sweet to obey the will of heaven 
when the measure of life is thus filled with blessing.” 


THE END. 


LOVE IS LORD OF ALL; 

OR, 

NEIGHBORING STEPPES. 

31 NodcI. 


ADAPTED FROM THE GERMAN 

BY MARY J. SAFFORD, 

Translator oj “ Wife and Woman," Little Heather-Blossom," 
“ True Daughter of Hartenstein," etc., etc. 

WITH ILLV8TRATJ0N8 BY F. A. CARTER. 

\ 

12mo. 350 Pag«s. Handsomely Bo\md in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


The second title of this story, “ Neighboring Steppes,” indi- 
cates the scene of the story, which is adjoining estates on the 
great plains of Poland. The heir of a ruined and dissipated 
nobleman falls in love with the daughter of a rich Jew who has 
bought one of the estates of the family. The beautiful character 
of the Jewess and the heroism of the young baron are in refresh- 
ing contrast to the narrow pride and contemptible conduct of 
those who endeavor to break off their intimacy. It is a surpass- 
ingly interesting sketch of foreign life made familiar by the action 
of human passions which are the same the world over. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, post- 
paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A CAPITAL AMERICAN STORY. 


UNDER A CLOUD. 

BY JEAN KATE LUDLUM, 

Author of “ Under Oath” etc. 


ILLUSTRATED BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 


12mo. 300 Pa^es. With Numerous Illustrations. Handsomely 
Bound in Cloth, Price, $1.00. Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 

\ 

It was once asked by a celebrated Englishman : “Who reads 
an American Book ?” The question is no longer a conundrum. 
American books are the popular reading of the present day. 
“ Under a Cloud” is a spirited and pathetic account of the trials 
of a New York lady, who, in consequence of a promise wrung 
from her by her fether, is put into relations with her husband 
which are almost unprecedented. The chain of circumstances 
by which the husband is implicated in a crime and the heroic 
efforts of the wife to traverse this chain and unravel the mystery 
make a history of overpowering interest. 

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THE LITTLE COUNTESS. 


BY 

E. VON DINCKLAGE, 

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 


By S. E. BOGGS. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 


12mo. 318 Pa^es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth.. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. * 

“ The Little Countess ” is a delightful novel. It is full of life 
and movement, and, in this respect, is superior to most transla- 
tions from the German. It is distinctly a story to be read for 
pure enjoyment. The little countess belongs to an ancient and 
noble family. She is left an orphan in a lonely old castle, with a 
few servants and pets. Her heroic temper sustains her in every 
trial. The part played by an American girl in the story is very 
amusing, and shows what queer ideas are entertained of American 
women by some German novelists. 

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CoR. William and Spruce Streets, New Vork. 


A LOVE MATCH 


BY 

Sylvan us Cobb, Jr., 

Author of “ The Gunmaker of Moscowf* etc. 


Wira SUMXBOVb OMOICB lU.VBT&ATJOJfa BY &. A.. TBAYBB. 

l 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. Bonnd In Cloth, $l.'00i 


Everybody recognizes Sylvanus Cobb’s great popularity. We 
offer this explanation : In his stories there is always something 
going on. His characters are never dull. They do not preach 
or philosophize, but act, work, quarrel, fight, make love, and 
keep the reader busy following up the movement in which every- 
thing culminates. “ The Gunmaker of Moscow ” is a constant 
succession of thrilling actions. “ A Love Match ” is a somewhat 
different kind of story, but the action is the main thing in it. 
From the very beginning, it is clear that the author has a story to 
tell of an interesting and original character. ‘ The eccentric old 
lady, so rich, reticent and mysterious, takes hold of the mind, 
and when she adopts the waif that is placed at her door, we are 
conscious of the fact that we are caught in a genuine story-teller’s 
toils. 

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Cox. WiLUAM AND SPRUCE STREETS, New loik. 


A Hew Novel by the Author of “Under Oath,'* 


JOHN WINTHROP’S DEFEAT. 

BY JEAN KATE LUDLUM. 

ILLUSTRATED BT VICTOR PERARD. 

% 

12xno. Beautifully niustrated. Handsomely Boiind In Cloth, 
Price, $1.00. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


Miss Ludlum’s new novel is her best. It is a delightful story 
of life at the famous seaside summer resort on Fire Island, and 
presents a pleasing picture of the gayety and frivolity that reign 
during the heated term in American watering places. There is 
an interesting romance growing out of the vicissitudes of Wall 
Street speculation and the complications of fashionable society. 
The heart of a true woman beneath the silks and laces proves 
stronger than any change that outward fortune brings in the 
circumstances of her life, and she triumphs over every depression. 
There is an abundance of incident, and the scene of the story 
ranges from New York to California, and from Paris to Florence. 
The illustrations add much to the beauty of the book. 

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CECIL ROSSE: 

A SEQUEL TO 

EDITH TREVOR’S SECRET. 


BY 

MRS. HARRIET LEWIS, 


Author of Her Double Life," Lady Kildare," ‘^Beryl's 
Husband," “ The Two Husbands," “ Sundered 
Hearts," Edda's Birthright," etc., etc. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BT WARREN B. DAVIS. 


12mo. 370 Fa^es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


“ Cecil Rosse ” is a continuation and conclusion of the extra- 
ordinary story of “ Edith Trevor’s Secret.” It displays a wonder- 
ful complication of circumstances involving people of highest and 
lowest degree. It shows how much can be accomplished by the 
unstinted use of money, and how helpless innocent girlhood is in 
the face of diabolical ingenuity with money at command. The 
great interest of this story centers in the charming heroine and 
her high-minded lover. 

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on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

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THE NORTHERN LIGHT 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 


E.^ WERNER, 

BY 

Mrs. D. M. Lowrey. 


12mo. 873 Pag'es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth, Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


Since the death of the author of “Old Ma’mselle’s Secret,” 
Werner is the most popular of living German writers. Her 
novels are written with great literary ability, and possess the 
charm of varied character, incident and scenery. “ The Northern 
Light ” is one of her most characteristic stories. The heroine is 
a woman of great beauty and strength of individuality. No less 
interesting is the young poet who, from beginning to end, con- 
stantly piques the curiosity of the reader. 

For sale by all booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of 
price, by 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, Publishers, 

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THE IMPROVISATORE; 

OR, 

LIFE IN ITALY. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH OF 

Hans Christian Andersen. 

By MARY HOWITT. 

ILLUSIBATED BY EABSY O. EDWARDS. 

12ixio. BoTind In Cloth, $1.00. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This is an entrancing romance dealing with the classic scenes 
of Italy. To those who desire to behold with their own eyes 
those scenes, it will create a fresh spring of sentiment, and fill 
them with unspeakable longing. To those who have visited the 
fair and memory-haunted towers and towns of Florence, Rome 
and Naples, it will revive their enthusiasm and refresh their 
knowledge. Andersen published this novel immediately after 
his return from Italy, and it created an extraordinary effect. 
Those who had depreciated the author’s talent came forward 
voluntarily and offered him their homage. It is a work of such 
singular originality and beauty that no analysis or description 
could do it justice, and the universal admiration which it at once 
excited has caused it to be read and reread throughout the world. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
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EUGENIE GRANDET 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF 

Honore De Balzac. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY JAMES FAQ AN, 


12mo. Bound in Cloth, $1.00. Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


“Eugenie Grandet” is one of the greatest of novels. It is the 
history of a good woman. Every student of French is familiar 
with it, and an opportunity is now afforded to read it in a good 
English translation. The lesson of the book is the hideousness 
of the passion of the miser. Eugenie’s father is possessed by it 
in a degree of intensity probably unknown in America, and to 
our public it will come as a revelation. What terrible suffering 
he inflicts upon his* family by his ferocious economy and unscru- 
pulousness only Balzac’s matchless narrative could show. The 
beautiful nature of Eugenie shines like a meteor against the black 
background, and her self-sacrifice, her sufferings and her superb 
strength of character are wrought out, and the story brought to a 
climax, with the finest intellectual and literary power and dis- 
crimination. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, oi . nt, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

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A CHEAP EDITION 

In Ornamental Paper Cover. Price, 50 Cents. 


A NEW NOVEL 

By the Author of “The Forsaken Inn.” 

A MATTER OF MILLIONS. 

BY 

Anna Katharine Green. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY VICTOR PERARD. 

12mo. 482 Pages. Handsomely BoTind in English Cloth. Gold 
Stamping on Cover. Price, $1.60. Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


This brilliant, artistic novel will enhance the great reputation 
of the popular author of “The Forsaken Inn.” It is a story 
of to-day. The scene is laid in the city of New York and the 
village of Great Barrington, Mass. The story recites the strange 
adventures of a beautiful heiress who is herself so mysterious a 
creature that the reader cannot fathom her character until the 
final explanation and denouement of the plot. She is an intel- 
lectual and talented girl, whose musical gifts make her admired 
and beloved by her own sex, and the object of passionate adora- 
tion by the other sex. The artistic life is pictured and exempli- 
fied by two of the principal characters in the story. Everything 
conspires to make the story one of strong dramatic interest. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

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MRS. HAROLD STAGG. ' 


A NOVEL. 


BY 

Robert Grant, 

Author of “Jack Hall,” etc. 


Beautifully Illustrated By Harry C. Zdwards. Paper Cover, 60 
Cents. Bo\md in Cloth, $1.00. 


This is a brilliant novel, in which the author has given a free 
rein to his undoubted faculty for social satire. Mrs. Harold 
Stagg is a capital portraiture whose prototype may be found in 
the drawing-rooms of New York, Boston and Newport. The 
story is told with the amusing and quiet cleverness which has 
made the author’s reputation, and contains many striking ideas 
which will cause Society’s backbone to creep. Like “ The Anglo- 
maniacs,” it places its heroine under a cross-fire from a wealthy 
swell and a talented youth to fame and fortune unknown — a 
situation which allows Mr. Grant an opportunity to exhibit a 
very interesting and unselfish type of the young American 
woman. In despite of the satire of which Mrs. Harold Stagg is 
the object, every man will like that lady for herself, even thoug> 
he may not be as blindly devoted as her husband. 


LILITH 


A Sequel to “The Uhloved Wife.” 


By MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. 


With Illustrations by O. W. Simons. 


Paper Cover, 60 Cents. Bound In Cloth, $1.00. 


In “Lilith,” Mrs. Southworth has taken up the fortunes of her 
heroine from the date of her disappearance in “ The Unloved 
Wife,” and created a new and lovely history for her. Each of 
the novels is perfectly complete in itself, and neither is necessary 
to the perfection of the other, but they may be read together, 
and thus they form a more extended and more beautiful develop- 
ment of life and character than either constitutes alone. In 
“The Unloved Wife” Lilith is a- girl; in “Lilith” she is a 
woman. There are more power and more of the interest and 
influence of independent individuality and character in the sequel 
than in the first part of the heroine’s strange and tragic history. 
All who read one will desire to read the other. 


LIDA CAMPBELL, 

OR 

DRAMA-OF A LIFE. 

Notjcl. 


BY 

JEAN KATE LUDLUM, 

Author of “ Under Oath," “ Under a Cloud," John Win- 
throp's Defeat," etc. 


WITS ILLU8TBATI0N8 BY S. M. EATON. 

12mo. 361 Pa^s. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


This beautiful story was written one year ago. Even then the 
author had premonitory symptoms of the fell disease which so 
recently struck her down in her youth. Her talent was develop- 
ing rapidly, and she promised to become one of the most popular 
writers of the day. “ Lida Campbell, or Drama of a Life,” is a 
novel of the present. Its characters and incidents are familiar, 
and have the strong interest of natural sequence and probability. 
The emotional power which is a marked characteristic of Miss 
Ludlum’s work is strongly wrought out in this novel, and the 
most casual reader cannot fail to be intensely interested in it. 

F or sale by . booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, post- 
paid, on ,ipt of price, by the publishers, 

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Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


REUNITED 


A STORY OF THE CIVIL W^R./ 


BY A POPULAR SOUTHERN AUTHOR. 


Illustrated by F. A. Carter. 


Handsomely Decorated Paper Cover, Price, 60 Cents. Botmd 
in Cloth, Price, $1.00. 


This is a splendid novel of the late War. It deals with the 
armies and their operations on both sides and shows the feelings 
of brothers who crossed swords in the conflict. The main theatre 
of the incidents is the State of Kentucky and the famous blue- 
grass region celebrated for its beautiful women, its fine horses 
and its more widely known Bourbon whiskey. There is a brisk 
movement in the novel, in keeping with scouting, marching and 
cavalry charging. The author was a soldier, and he has crowded 
his pages with adventures and stories of camp-life, which have 
great interest, and charm one by their truth to nature. Rarely 
has any great crisis produced more heroic spirits than the War 
for the Union. They fought and bled on both sides of the line, 
and this novel commemorates their valor, and shows how true 
hearts were reunited at the end of the struggle, and that peace 
brought more than mere cessation from strife. This is a novel 
which appeals to every one. 


GLORIA 


21 Nood. 


BY 

MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. 

Author of “ The Hidden Handf “ The Unloved Wifef 
Lilith f Unknown f “A Leap in the Darkf 

Nearest and Dearest f For Woman^s 

* Lovef “ The Lost Lady of Lone,'* 

David Lindsay," etc., etc. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F. A. CARTER. 


12nio. 348 PagM. Handsomely Boimd in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


The heroine of this novel is one of the most interesting of Mrs. 
Southworth’s charming girls. She is almost as good as Capitola, 
the delightful madcap of “The Hidden Hand.” Her perfect 
naturalness and gayety are so winning that no one can read her 
history without loving her. The story is full of the charm of 
unsophisticated girlhood and womanhood. We are not claiming 
too much when we say that Mrs. Southworth is one of the most 
engaging writers of fiction that this country has produced. Her 
novels have a larger circulation among the people than those 
of any other American writer. She has the gift of making her 
stories interesting, and filling them with pleasant incidents and 
characters, so that when the reader has finished one he wants 
to take up another. 

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THE LEDGER LIBRARY. 


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54 

55 

56 

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58. 

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61.- 

62. 

63. 

64. - 

65. - 

66 . - 

67. - 

68 . - 
69.- 


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